


If You'd Still

by mille_libri



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:06:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 73
Words: 67,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6467749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mille_libri/pseuds/mille_libri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment in the factory nearly broke them, but they found their way back. Moments in Oz and Willow's journey through season 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken

They waited together for the ambulance. Xander sat next to Cordelia and Willow hovered on the stairs, wanting desperately to undo it all, to go back in time and have it never have happened. To be bowling, laughing at the funny shoes—with Oz.

If only there was a spell that would do that. But even if there was, she wouldn’t be able to work it. Look what had happened when she tried to delust herself. Everyone had found out anyway, and now everything was awful.

She waited while the paramedics lifted Cordelia off the spike and carried her on a board up to the ambulance, while they looked at Xander’s head and packed him into the ambulance as well. She waited while the police officer who had come with the ambulance scolded her, as the only uninjured person, for playing in abandoned buildings like a bunch of reckless kids.

And she didn’t know what to say. Not to Oz, not to Cordelia, not to Xander, not to the police. 

When finally Buffy came hurrying out of the dark, Willow had barely managed to gasp out what had happened, and a sketchy version at that, to judge by the confusion in Buffy’s face, before she collapsed in her best friend’s arms and let the tears take her.

Buffy got her home, got her tucked into bed, and for a little while Willow could sink into the dark forgetfulness of sleep. But she dreamt of Oz, of being held in his arms. And of Xander, of kissing him and falling. And she dreamt that she was the one impaled by the spike, only it went into her heart and she woke up gasping with the pain, only to realize that the spike was a dream but the pain was real, and it wasn’t going to go away.

On her bedside table she saw the PEZ witch Oz had given her. She slid out of bed, onto the floor, turning the witch in her hands, trying to figure out where such a simple little creature had gone so wrong.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
As he always did when his mind was troubled, Oz got out his guitar as soon as he was alone. The act of tuning it, focusing his mind on doing a meticulous job, usually allowed his mind to open a path to think his way clear of the problem. 

But tonight … he found his fingers tightening too much on the neck of the instrument as the picture flashed into his mind again. Willow. His Willow. On the bed with her friend Xander.

That Oz had always half expected this to happen didn’t make it any better. It only made the betrayal seem all the greater, all the blacker. He loved her—had loved her since the moment he first saw her, without even knowing who she was, standing there in that ridiculously adorable Eskimo costume. But there had been Xander, even then, Xander and Willow with a bond no one could break, Xander bewitching the entire female population of Sunnydale, Xander at her side through all the fights and the long nights in the library.

And now … and it wasn’t just once, that much Oz was sure of. Even in the brief moment before Willow and Xander had known he and Cordelia were there, he could see that there was familiarity in that kiss, a slow unhurried taking of their time—the way he wanted to kiss Willow. He had held himself back, not wanting to rush her into something she wasn’t ready for, when all the time … 

He had never felt anything quite like the rage that had welled up in him at that moment. Was it the wolf? He had scented Willow’s fear just driving by the factory. Could he have scented something else? Was that what had made him so angry? He couldn’t have spoken to her in that moment if he had wanted to; it had taken all his control to keep the anger down, to think clearly about what needed to be done, to call the ambulance for Cordelia when she was injured.

What made it worse was not knowing what Willow had intended. Had she been planning to break up with him to be with Xander? Had she been planning to have them both? His sweet, innocent Willow? That didn’t seem like her, but … There she had been.

He wished for sleep, but that wasn’t coming. And for once the music wasn’t coming—everything in his mind was discordant, all the notes clashing with one another. He wanted Willow, wanted her more than even he had known, and he couldn’t have her either.

Eyes dry, mind in turmoil, he sat holding the guitar.


	2. Phone

When the phone rang, something told him it was her. Just the way he had been sure it was her the last time, and the time before.

His mom had grown tired of answering it, tired of telling Willow he wasn’t there when in fact he was, and had told him it was his problem, he could deal with it. There had been a question in her eyes when she said it, but Oz hadn’t answered. Just as he hadn’t answered the phone.

He didn’t this time, either, and the ringing stopped, leaving a pathetic little silence where it had been.

Oz stared at it, willing it to ring again, not wanting it to. With everything that was in him, he wanted to talk to Willow, to hear her sweet voice, to have her tell him that what he remembered had never happened, to listen to her worry about grades and homework and Buffy. But it had happened, and no amount of wanting was going to change that—nothing Willow could say was going to change that.

The ringing began again, and he wished it would stop. He couldn’t talk to her. She had broken his heart, betrayed him with the one person he knew she could never let go, so that even if he could forgive her, it would never go away. Xander was a part of Willow’s life—had always been a bigger part than anyone else and always would be. Oz couldn’t imagine living with that, knowing what they had done, wondering what else there was that he didn’t know …

The ringing stopped abruptly, mid-sound, and his father’s heavy footsteps followed the silence. “Pick up the phone and talk to her,” he said, the tone brooking no disagreement. “Get it over with, whatever it is. For all our sakes.”

Oz swallowed. He was right; she wouldn’t go away until he talked to her. When the door closed behind his father, he picked up the phone and put it against his ear. Just as he had for so many other conversations, he thought, closing his eyes against the wave of pain. “Hey.”

“Oz! I’ve been trying to reach you all day, to tell you how sorry I am that— I mean, I never meant to—When I think that I hurt you it makes me feel all …” She was crying now, unable to form words, and he squeezed his eyes shut more tightly, trying not to cry himself.

“Willow.” Forcing the word out, that word in particular, was harder than he could have imagined it would be. “Stop.”

She got herself under control with difficulty. “It—it was just— I was there and he was there, and we were going to die, and …”

“And before?”

There was silence on the line, and he knew he wasn’t wrong, and he knew if she lied to him he would know it, but a small part of him wanted her to anyway.

Willow’s voice came, small and shamed and honest, and Oz still wasn’t sure if he would have preferred her to lie to him. “We … kissed … a few times before. It was … wrong. We both knew it, but …”

“You did it anyway.”

“Oz, I didn’t think— I’ve never been that girl, and I …”

He knew. He knew his Willow—Xander’s Willow—so well, he should have seen the blossoming in her, the awakening of herself as a woman, with confidence and a new understanding of herself. Had he let this happen, going along and just being happy with how things were? Should he have pushed her boundaries more, been the one to awaken her sexuality? Now that was Xander’s. Oz put a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the images in his head. “Are you and …” He couldn’t bring himself to use Xander’s name.

“No! God, no. That’s over for good. Oz, I promise. When I saw you there, I knew … What I did was … I am so sorry.”

She was crying again, and Oz could feel his heart constrict. It was hard to breathe listening to her in pain, but he couldn’t get past it like this. “Willow.”

“Oz?”

“I need time. Space. Do you understand?”

“I … think so. Can I see you?”

She didn’t understand. She thought saying she was sorry was enough, and he loved her innocent heart even in the face of his own hurt. “No. You need—I need you to leave me alone.”

“Oh.” There was a silence, and then, “For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh. Okay,” she said doubtfully. “Oz?”

He waited, knowing he should just hang up.

“I … I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Now he did put the phone back, leaving it off the hook so he wouldn’t have to know if she had listened to him or not.


	3. Locker

Willow’s heart had been pounding since she woke up. Well … since she opened her eyes, really, since she was pretty sure she hadn’t slept a wink all last night. She had taken a long time getting dressed this morning, wanting to find an outfit that said to Oz that she was all his, one that said there were no illicit smooches on her mind, but one that also said she missed Oz’s kisses and never wanted to be without them again.

She had finally stopped dithering when she knew the school’s doors would be open, wanting to get there early so she couldn’t possibly miss Oz’s arrival.

On her way up the school steps, it occurred to her that he might not come to school today, and it felt like her heart practically stopped beating, before speeding up again with the need to hurry and make sure she didn’t miss him.

She hovered near his locker, but there was no sign of him. Xander came in, wanting to hang, but she hurried him off. The very last thing she wanted in the world was for Oz to see her with Xander and think … things. No thinking things! She felt bad for Xander—Cordelia had closed that door pretty firmly—but she had to think of Oz first. If she had thought of Oz first before, none of them would be in this situation right now.

A voice behind her startled her out of her thoughts. “How’s it goin’?”

She turned to see Buffy standing behind her. “Oz hasn’t been to his locker! There may be books in there that he needs, but still—he doesn’t come.”

“Has Xander seen Cordelia?”

“I don’t think so, but she is coming in today. Amy saw her last night at the mall.” Willow felt guilty for leaving Xander to fend for himself—but then, hadn’t he brought it all on himself in the first place by dating Cordelia? 

“How is she?” 

Buffy sounded concerned, and Willow felt guilty all over again. After all, Cordelia had been the one to land in the hospital; she deserved their sympathy and their good thoughts and their deeply meant apologies. If only she could see Oz, see him and talk to him and apologize in person, then she could think about Cordelia and Xander.

She realized Buffy was still waiting for an answer. “Amy said she looked pretty scary.”

“Will, you’re going to be late to class.”

“I know.”

“You hate to be late.” 

“I know.”

Buffy smiled, understanding. “I’ll see you later.” 

“Okay.” Willow didn’t even notice her leave, her focus back on Oz’s locker.

He finally showed just before the last bell. The hallway was practically empty. Willow watched him around the corner. It seemed to her that he looked … different. Sad. But maybe that was just wishful thinking and he just looked like Oz. Part of her wanted to run away, to hide so he couldn’t see her, so she couldn’t see him and what his face would look like when he looked at her.

But the other part, the part that needed to make things right and put things back, pushed her around the corner in his direction. “Oz! Wow. Look at us, running into each other as two people who go to the same school are so likely to do now and then.” She had no idea what she was saying. He turned to look at her, setting her worst fear to rest, her fear that he would ignore her entirely.

He said, “Hey.” And then he walked right past her.

Could he do that? Could he just say “hey” and leave it at that? Willow grabbed his arm. “Oz, wait. Please?”

Oz stopped, but he didn’t look at her. No question about it, there was an expression on his face. Pain. She had hurt him. If she had ever wondered how he felt, she didn’t have to right now. Once she would have been glad to have seen so much emotion in him, but she had caused this, and it hurt them both, and … “What I did— When I think that … I hurt you … “

“Yeah. You said all this stuff already.”

“Right. But …” If she’d said it all, everything she could think to say, why hadn’t it helped? “I want to make it up to you. I mean, if you let me, I want to try.”

Oz started to say something, then shook his head. “You can leave me alone,” he said. “I need to figure things out.”

Willow felt lost. If there was nothing she could do, then she would just have to carry around this big ball of guilt, and she didn’t know if she could do that, not if there was no hope. “But, maybe if we talk about it,” she said desperately, “we could …”

He looked away, and then down at the floor, before raising his head to look directly into her eyes, which he hadn’t done yet. “Look … I’m sorry this is hard for you. But I told you what I need. So I can’t help feeling like the reason you want to talk is so that you can feel better about yourself.” He shook his head. “That’s not my problem.”

He left her there, standing in the middle of the hallway, feeling so small and so wrong and so lost.


	4. Musketeers

Willow met Buffy and Xander after school, as usual, and the three of them walked off campus together. Part of Willow felt she needed to hurry, to get away before Oz could see her with Xander. 

But wasn’t that part of the problem? It had to be. Oz knew everything that had been between them, except for the illicit kisses of the past few weeks. He knew they were lifelong friends, he knew Willow had thought herself in love with Xander for most of her adolescence. He had to know that whatever happened, Xander was always going to be part of her life.

“Will?” Buffy was looking at her as though she had missed a question.

“I’m sorry, I was thinking about …”

“Oz.” Buffy looked sympathetic.

Xander tried to … but he had never understood Oz. Willow looked at him now, wondering if part of Xander felt as threatened by Oz as part of Oz, she now believed, felt threatened by Xander. “Yes, Oz,” she said, sighing. “I just …”

“Did he finally show at the lockers?”

“Yes. And … I feel like a heel.”

Xander said, “You shouldn’t. What did you do …” He stopped talking, looking sheepish.

“I wanted to apologize, to make things right, and he—he said … He said he needed space, and if I kept pushing, that was about me and what I needed, and not him and what he needed.”

“He’s a wise man.” Buffy tilted her head, looking thoughtfully at Willow. “That was hard to hear, I bet.”

“The hardest. But he wasn’t wrong. I was making it all about me, and now I’m trying to think about what I would do if I was him and he was me and I caught him making out with Xander.”

Xander leaped off the sidewalk. “Whoa! Hold on there. That’s far enough down What If Road.”

“It’s a pretty disturbing visual, Will,” Buffy agreed.

Willow frowned at both of them. “That’s not what I meant. I just meant that here I am acting like nothing happened, hanging out with Xander right in front of Oz’s nose—or where his nose would be if he could see me. Could I get past that, if I were him? I don’t know.”

“Hence the space, huh?”

“Exactly. If that’s what he wants, that’s what he’ll get.”

There was a silence, and then Xander said, “You’re not having thoughts about not hanging out with Xander, are you? Because … Cordelia won’t even look at me, and I don’t think I can do this without my Willow.”

She smiled at him. “No, no non-Xander thoughts. But no more ‘my Willow’, either. I can’t be your Willow and Oz’s Willow, and I want to be Oz’s Willow again.”

“If he can shut you out that way, Will …” Xander was looking at her with concern, and she shook her head.

“He’s the injured party here. Well, Cordelia really is, but … I hurt him. I really hurt him. You guys should have seen his face and heard his voice. I wanted him to be more … demonstrative, but now I don’t. I’d be okay if he never made an expression again if it’s going to hurt so much when he does.” Her voice cracked. She swallowed against a big lump in her throat.

Buffy put her arm around Willow’s shoulders. “I think he’s right to ask for what he needs, and you’re right to give it to him.”

“But … in the meantime … what do I do?”

“You come to the Bronze with us.” Buffy gave her shoulder a squeeze. “That’s what you do. We’ll get each other through this. I promise.”

Xander nodded. “Yeah. All for one and one for all, or however that goes.” 

“No, that’s right.” Willow smiled. “The way it should be.”


	5. Music

This wasn’t going to go away. Not that he had thought it would, exactly, but not seeing her had brought with it a certain amount of … distance. He could put off thinking about what would happen next. Now, now that he’d seen her …

Oz tuned the guitar in silence, listening to his bandmates chatter around him, trying to pay attention, although it was the same thing they always talked about—girls, beer, girls, cars, girls. Not that he minded; he liked all those things. But today it just brought his head back over and over again to the same place, standing in that hallway simultaneously sad for her, angry at her, and wanting nothing more than to hold her and know that she was his.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it, he thought. She wasn’t his. She never could be. 

The band was getting set to rehearse the first song, and he automatically brought the guitar into position.

Leaving aside the tricky proposition of ever truly laying a claim on another human being … parts of Willow already had been claimed. By Buffy, by her parents, by herself—by Xander.

“Dude!” Dylan stopped playing to stare at him. “What is that?”

“What? Sorry.” 

“No, it rocked. It just wasn’t the right song.”

If it had rocked, he kind of wished he knew what he had been playing. “Sorry,” he said again. “I’m a little …”

“Yeah. We heard. Sucks, dude.”

He appreciated their genuine sympathy, even if it only lasted a moment before they restarted the song. That moment seemed to be more than Cordelia had gotten. Xander, man. That kid seemed to have a charmed life. No matter who he hurt, he walked away smiling, with the love of two women whose love was really worth something. Oz wanted to punch him.

But that wouldn’t help; it wouldn’t turn back the clock or bring things back to where they had been or take them anywhere new. It wouldn’t tell him how to be with Willow and accept the reality of Xander in her life. Oz had never been stupid, and it would have been stupid to think he could ask Willow to give up her friendship with Xander. She might even have agreed, in desperation, but it wouldn’t last, and he wouldn’t put any of them in that position.

He woke up to the fact that the band had moved on to a different song and tried to follow it. They were mostly ignoring him now, letting him play what came to him, and he appreciated it. The music was helping, the presence of others was helping. His thoughts were straightening out a little.

Seeing Willow today … He wanted her back. That wasn’t even a question. He wanted to believe that whatever she and Xander had been up to was a momentary aberration and was as over as she promised it was. 

As the music slowed a bit, Oz thought back to the first few times he had seen her, the elaborate fantasies he had constructed about her before he knew who she was. He had put her on a pedestal, imagined that she was … perfect. But she wasn’t perfect: She was Willow, which was better. She was unlike anyone in the world. And if he was going to accept that she was Willow, to treasure that she was Willow, he had to accept that Willow made mistakes, and give her the room to atone for them.

Rehearsal wound down for the day, and he put the guitar down with a sigh of relief. 

“That was pretty awesome,” Dylan said. “You should get dumped all the time.”

Oz smiled. “Thanks, man. I appreciate the candor.”

As he left, he heard Dylan behind him. “Candy? Did someone give him candy? Can I have some?”


	6. Forgiveness

Another day of school. Willow used to look forward to them, learning new things and being with her friends and … Oz … but now it was just another tomorrow, creeping in its petty pace. She didn’t know what she would have done without Xander and Buffy. They never really changed; they were familiar in a world suddenly gone all sideways.

Buffy was still obsessing about Angel, some kind of new disturbance that had him back in her space again. That was never going to go anywhere good, but Willow understood why her friend couldn’t entirely pull herself away. After all, she was still hanging around with Xander and mooning about Oz, neither of which was probably healthy for her peace of mind.

With an effort, she brought her mind back to what Buffy was saying, catching the tail end. 

“I just want a nice, quiet Christmas vacation.”

“So you doin’ anything special?” Xander asked. 

“Tree. Nog. Roast beast. Me and Mom and hopefully an excess of gifts.” She turned to Willow. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

Irritated, Willow said, “Being Jewish. Remember, people? Not everybody worships Santa.”

“I just meant for vacation.”

“Oh.” The truth was she was trying to avoid thinking about it. She and Oz had planned things—hot cocoa and marshmallows and movies and walks and gift shopping together for their families and maybe exchanging presents and … “Nothing fun. Oz and I had planned—“ She didn’t want to go into it. “But I guess that’s off.”

Cordelia was in the lounge, talking with another girl. They both got up when Buffy, Willow, and Xander approached and took seats on the empty couch. 

Xander, doing an admirable job of pretending Cordy wasn’t there, said, “Well, I’ll be enjoying my annual Christmas Eve campout. See, I take my sleeping bag outside and I go to sleep on the grass.”

“Sounds fun.” Willow remembered when he had started that tradition in fourth grade. For years, she would sneak out on Christmas Eve and camp out with him and they would tell each other ghost stories. Really tame ones, if she remembered right. A couple of years Jesse had camped out with them. Sometimes she wondered what Jesse would be like if he were alive today. How would he have changed with the discovery that they lived on a Hellmouth?

“Yeah,” Xander went on. “I like to look at the stars, you know, feel the whole nature vibe.”

Cordelia came over to stand in front of him. “I thought you slept outside to avoid your family’s drunken Christmas fights.”

They stared at each other. Eventually Xander nodded. “Yes. And that was a confidence I was hoping you would share with everyone.”

Willow’s heart hurt for him, and for once she was grateful for Oz’s brevity of speech. Nothing she had told him would ever be aired in public that way, no matter how angry he was at her. 

Cordelia said brightly, “Well, I’ll be in Aspen. Skiing. With actual snow.”

“I hear that helps,” Buffy said, clearly biting back a more sarcastic response.

“It must be a drag to be stuck here in Sweatydale. I’ll be thinking of you.” Cordelia looked them all over, gave a small, satisfied smile, and said, “Okay. I’m done.” And she left.

The three of them watched her go silently. Willow wanted to be angry at Cordelia, to hate her as they had always hated each other … but she couldn’t quite manage it, not now. Not knowing what Cordelia had been through because of her.

Buffy said, “She certainly has reverted to form.”

“It’s not her fault,” Willow said. “After what happened, we’ve got to cut her some slack.”

Xander nodded. “That’s the Christmas spirit.”

“Hello, still Jewish. Hanukkah spirit, I believe that was? Anyway, forgiveness is pretty much a big theme with me this year, because of the …”

The silence suddenly felt weird and heavy. Willow looked up to see Oz standing in front of her, and found that she couldn’t quite remember how to breathe. Her heart seemed to know what it was doing, and was making an impressive display of pounding in her chest.

Oz looked at them all, the silence stretching out. Xander shifted to the opposite corner of the couch, unable to meet Oz’s eyes. And then those eyes were on Willow, not angry or cold or distant, and her heart leaped into her throat, still pounding like it was a drum in a marching band.

“Hey,” he said. An “I’m willing to talk” kind of hey.

She gave him a small smile. “Hey.”

He nodded toward the nearest classroom, walking away without looking to see if she was following. Not that he needed to, because of course she was. She looked back quickly over her shoulder to see Buffy smiling and making encouraging shooing motions at her, and Xander still huddling sulkily in the corner of the couch. He’d get over it, she told herself, and hurried after Oz.

They both leaned against the teacher’s desk, not looking at each other. 

Willow didn’t want to start. He had told her he needed space; she had given him space. It seemed like it was his turn to talk, much as he wasn’t so big on the talking.

“Okay,” he said eventually. “The thing is … seeing you with Xander … it was … Well, I never felt that way before—when there wasn’t a full moon.”

She hadn’t thought of it that way. Why hadn’t she thought of it that way? Because he was so controlled. But the wolf lived inside him somewhere; it wasn’t surprising he should have felt it in that moment. Willow shivered.

He went on, “But … I know you guys have a history …”

Willow couldn’t stay quiet any longer. “But it’s a history that’s in the past!” She realized what she had said, and added, “Well, I guess most history is in the past.” And Xander wasn’t her past, anyway. He was very much her present and her future. Only the kissing part and the weird longing part were past, and that was what she needed Oz to know. “But it’s over,” she said firmly.

“Well, I don’t know. I don’t know that it ever will be, between you two,” Oz said. Clearly he had given this a lot of thought. Of course he had given this a lot of thought. And he knew her well enough to know exactly where Xander fit into her life and how important he was.

But maybe Oz didn’t know for sure where he fit into her life and how important he was. “Oz, please believe me.”

He looked straight at her for the first time since they’d come into the room. “This is what I do know.” He paused, and Willow’s heart did a series of skips and jumps waiting to hear what he would say. At last he went on, “I miss you. Like, every second.”

Her heart leaped, racing as if it wanted to jump free of her chest and into his arms. 

Oz kept talking, softly, the words heavy with his feelings. “It’s like I lost an arm, or, worse, a torso. So … I think I’d be willing to … give it a shot …” He didn’t look at her.

Willow could hardly breathe. She wanted to pinch herself. She wanted to beg him to be certain, and to thank him for understanding and giving her another chance, and … so many things that she didn’t know what to say or do first. She stood up, trying to think of what to say, and at last managed a hesitant, hopeful, “Really?”

Oz gave her a sidelong glance, and then he stood up, too, a hint of a smile on his face. “Yeah.”

Willow smiled back, almost overcome with how much she wanted to touch him and make sure this was all real and she wasn’t just dreaming it. But she didn’t want to make the first move and have him be spooked and change his mind. “Do …” she began hesitantly. “Do you want us to … to hug now?”

His smile widened just a little, and he had that “you’re a very strange human being” look that said he really saw her, the way so few people did. She loved that look; she’d thought she might never see it again. “Yeah, I’d be up for that,” Oz whispered.

They approached one another hesitantly, and put their arms around each other hesitantly. And then … then it was all right. Willow pressed her face against his shoulder, feeling the familiar, affectionate tug of his hand in her hair. She couldn’t think—everything in her was filled with a warmth and a sense of gratitude. She never wanted to let him go again.


	7. Safe

Willow pulled the covers up to her chin, settling back into the mattress with a contented sigh. After so many nights of lying here staring at the ceiling wishing she could forget, or go back and undo, or just put her mind at rest long enough to get some sleep, it was blissful to lie here knowing things were okay, that Oz had given her the chance to make it all up to him.

Of course, that left her with the question of how to go about that. What did Oz need from her? To prove to him somehow that he was the only guy for her, that everything like that between her and Xander was over. But only time could do that, really. 

They had agreed to get together tomorrow night, and thinking of it, Willow was half excited, half nervous. Before … everything with Xander, they had just started to move past kissing to … more stuff. Oz was experienced, but it was all new for Willow, and she knew he had been taking things slowly for her. Would he still want to take things slowly—or do things at all? Did they need to ease back into all of that, start over from the beginning? Would it feel different?

Part of her worried that it wouldn’t feel right anymore. She cared for Oz; she wanted to be with Oz. But when she had been making out with Xander, it had felt … different. Because wrong, yes, but also because familiar and safe. Oz was wonderful and sweet and mysterious and made her feel special—but he wasn’t safe.

Sighing with something other than contentment, Willow rolled over, plumping up her pillow, her mind racing just as hard as it had the last few nights, with all new questions.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Oz glanced out the window, gauging the size of the moon, a habit that had grown automatic in the past months. Still plenty of time.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed with his guitar, quietly strumming, letting his fingers wander in no particular melody. Just … Willow thought.

Something inside him that had been ripped up and tangled was smooth now, whole again, the feel of her in his arms back in his head where it belonged. Tomorrow night he’d be with her, hearing her voice and holding her hand and feeling what she made him feel.

The blood surged faster through his veins at the thought. He knew his Willow, knew that she needed to step slowly and process every change, that the shift in her over time from the girl he had first met, the one who was afraid of her own body and sure no one else would ever see her as a woman because she couldn’t see herself that way to this more confident, more open, more aware person she was becoming was frightening to her.

“Huh,” he said out loud to no one in particular. When you put it that way, was it any wonder that she had gone to Xander? Her safe space, her other half—of course she would test out her first real exploration of her sexuality with him. Some part of Oz burned knowing she didn’t feel safe that way with him, but the other part understood, and felt every ounce of what it meant that she had come back to him. He wouldn’t push her, wasn’t sure he was ready to push himself, but … it would be good, once they got past the first few moments when they would both be thinking of what they were trying to put behind them. It would be very good.


	8. Walk

They met after school, unusually shy, both of them, and trying to pretend they weren’t.

“Did you … want to go somewhere?” Willow asked. Her hand hovered in midair, uncertain whether it was okay to reach for his or not, and then fell to her side.

Oz hadn’t thought that far ahead. “We could take a walk.”

“Okay. A walk sounds nice.” She wasn’t sure where they were going to walk to, though. Should she keep pace with him? Walk a little slower and let him figure out where they were going? Walk a little faster and choose which way to go herself? But she didn’t know which way to go, so how could she lead?

“Hey.” Oz caught her by the hand and pulled her close to him. 

“Hey,” Willow repeated breathlessly.

They weren’t going to get anywhere until someone took a step forward, Oz could tell, so he did, stepping in, his hand closing on the back of her head, his mouth finding hers. The touch of her lips nearly melted him completely, so familiar and so much like home.

Willow gasped softly in surprise, but she didn’t pull away.

Oz wanted to take the invitation of her parted lips, to deepen the kiss, but they were still standing on a sidewalk in the middle of the day; and he could still remember seeing her with Xander. So after a sweet moment, he stepped back from her. “Hey,” he said again, shaking their joined hands just a little and smiling at her. 

“Hey,” she repeated, but this time she was smiling, too, and the glow of his Willow was back around her.

“Better?”

Her smile widened. “Much.”

“Good.” He tugged on her hand. “Walk with me.”

They ambled down the sidewalks contentedly, not talking, letting the clasp of their hands communicate for them. Oz had never met anyone else who was so good at being silent. His Willow talked a lot, she thought a lot, but if you could catch her in that moment when she was sure of herself, she was devastatingly good at owning a silence.

He could feel her grip shift and tighten on his hand, and he could tell the moment was passing.

“So … do you want … I mean, we had talked about spending Christmas together. I don’t know if you still want to?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I definitely do.” Oz’s own family wasn’t much for Christmas. His parents usually went to visit his father’s stuffy relatives overnight, and they had stopped requiring Oz to go along years ago. About the time he had discovered the guitar and horrified his paternal grandmother by announcing he intended to start a band. A few presents exchanged around lunchtime on Christmas eve before they got in the car and drove to Utah were about the extent of it.

He’d never minded being alone on Christmas—it was a thoughtful time, good for writing music, and there were always plenty of gigs available around the holidays. But spending that night with Willow … His heart beat faster at the thought.

“Oh. Good.” Willow smiled. “I do, too.”

“Good.” Oz squeezed her hand again. “You have big family plans, or …?”

“Not really. Or … at all. My parents are out of town, so … I guess, you could come over?”

Go to her house, while her parents were out of town. Be alone with her, in her house. 

“Yeah. Sounds like a plan.” Oz was having some trouble breathing, just thinking of it, and he knew he would have to think carefully about how far he was willing to go. He knew his Willow, and she would fly away if he pushed her too fast, and he knew himself—he had to exorcise the image of Xander in her arms before he could really let himself feel everything he wanted to feel.

Willow was biting her lip, looking down at her tennis shoes, and he was sure she was thinking about the same thing. He wished they could talk about this stuff, but he didn’t think he could. Not now.

“We should talk more,” he said abruptly.

She looked up at him, frowning. “ _You_ want to talk more?”

“Seems like a wise idea.”

“I suppose. Is there … anything special you want to talk about?”

But she looked so uncertain that he couldn’t bring it up. Not right now. “Not at the moment.”

Willow smiled. “That’s more like my Oz.”

Her Oz. He was back where he belonged. For now, that was enough. He squeezed her hand once more and they started walking again, aimlessly, just happy to be together.


	9. Books

Buffy yawned, flipping a page in her book. She blinked at it, squinting, then turned another page. She sighed. 

Willow knew how she felt; this was difficult research for her, and she liked this kind of thing. And she didn’t have Buffy’s emotional ties to Angel worrying her as they searched for a reason why he had come back from Hell and for any clue as to what might be tormenting him. “You doin’ okay, there?”

“Just tired. And … these words are really small. Are they even words, or just little tiny demons?”

“Words. I think.” Willow frowned, remembering her former ‘boyfriend’, Moloch. “With Giles’s books, you never can tell.”

“No.” Buffy smiled at her. “But things are looking up, right?”

“Looking very up.” Willow couldn’t help smiling, too. “He’s gonna come over on Christmas eve, ‘cause my parents are out of town. “We’re gonna watch videos.”

“That’s good, right?” Buffy asked. “You guys are back.”

Willow nodded. “It’s good. It’s perfect … in an awkward, uncomfortable sort of way.” She’d been trying so hard to see only the positive in this change, but … it wasn’t a hundred percent, or even close to it. “I just … don’t know how to make Oz trust me.”

“Xander has a piece of you that Oz just can’t touch. I guess now it’s just about showing Oz that he comes first.”

Willow thought about that for a moment. It was true; they all knew it. She and Xander were she and Xander, and they always would be. After a lifetime together, it was impossible to think about life without him. But Buffy was right—if she wanted Oz to know how important he was in her life, in his own special way, she had to show him that. “I guess,” she said softly. “Thanks.”

In all of this, she was so glad that she had Buffy. She didn’t know what she would have done without her best friend to talk to. Willow turned back to the books, glad she could help Buffy in return.


	10. Special

Oz’s heart was beating fast as he let himself into Willow’s house. It felt strange, just walking in. They didn’t spent a lot of time here—Willow didn’t spend a lot of time here—because she didn’t feel comfortable around her parents. She hid most of her real life, her real self from them. Oz felt fortunate that he got to see that real life and real self; how could he have given that up? The Willow she didn’t let anyone else see was … amazing.

“Willow?” he called, shutting the door behind him. “I got videos,” he added, holding them up as he came around the corner into her living room. And then he stopped. Everything stopped. Because the Willow in front of him was one no one else had ever seen, or really imagined. 

But the Willow who spoke was his girl. “Hi,” she said, her voice making it clear that she knew how unusual she looked.

Beautiful. Gorgeous. Sexy, even. But unusual, there on the couch in her red dress, leaning as though … in invitation.

She patted the couch. “Why don’t you come s-sit down?” Her voice quavered a little, and his heart melted. His Willow, trying to … make amends, to be what she thought he wanted, all the while it was making her nervous and probably sick to her stomach.

Oz managed to make his feet move, crossing the room to sit down gingerly on the couch next to her, laying the videos on the table. What were they? He couldn’t remember.

As he sat, the melodious voice of Barry White began from somewhere, soft music underscoring the candles and the red dress and the nervous but expectant posture of the woman next to him. He turned to look at her, and she smiled, and Oz really wasn’t sure whether to kiss her or run from the room or call her a doctor.

“You ever have that dream,” he asked, “where you’re in a play, and it’s the middle of the play and you really don’t know your lines, and you kinda don’t know the plot?” He knew the plot, or he thought he did, but … he wasn’t ready for this much plot, and he would have laid a pretty hefty bet that neither was she.

“Well … we’re alone, and … and … we’re together … I just wanted it to be special.”

“How special are we talking?”

She couldn’t even say it. He could see her trying to figure out how to get the point across without saying it, and he knew this wasn’t right. Not the right time, or the right way. “Well …” she said again, “you know … we’re alone, and … we’re both mature, younger people, and—and so, we could … I’m ready to—with you …” She was breathing heavily, not from desire or anything close to it, but from fear. Oz wanted to hold her, but she would take it the wrong way if he tried that now. “We could do that thing,” she whispered at last, as though someone could hear her.

Oz looked at her, not sure what to say, and she looked back at him, that expectant smile still plastered on her face. He stood up.

Alarmed, Willow said, “Where are you going?”

“No, not going,” he assured her. “Just a … dramatic gesture. That’s … that’s pretty special,” he added softly, looking down at her.

Willow got to her feet, too. “Oz … I want to be with you … first,” she said. There was a confidence in her voice now that was heart-warming. This was his Willow, the one who knew herself and what she wanted, and she was much sexier than the scared temptress she had been a moment ago.

“I think we should sit down again.” They did so, slowly, while Oz considered how to say what needed to be said. He looked at her, and she put on that smile again.

“Oz? I-I’m ready.”

He wondered if she really thought she was. Even if the moment had felt right, he couldn’t have done that to her. If he was going to be first—and what an intoxicating prospect that was—he wanted to show her everything it could be, which meant that she needed to … well, she needed to need it. Yes. That was it. He smiled at her, just a little. “Okay. Well … don’t take this the wrong way, but … I’m not.”

She looked confused, that little wrinkle coming in her forehead that happened when someone did or said something she hadn’t planned on and knocked her out of her comfort zone. “Are you scared? ‘Cause I thought you had—“

“No, I have,” he said. “But this is different. I mean, you look great, and you got the Barry workin’ for you, and it’s all … good. But—when it happens, I want it to be because we both need it to, for the same reason.” Oz looked her in the eye now, wanting her to hear him and understand him. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

Something in her relaxed, and he could see some disappointment and some relief mingled in her eyes. “I just wanted you to know.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I get the message.”

She leaned toward him, and he reached for her, for her kiss, tasting the lipstick on her mouth and underneath it, the familiar sweetness that was Willow. He cupped her head, her hair sliding beneath his fingers, and kissed her more firmly, finding her tongue with his, the shy hesitance of her response, and then the growing confidence. They had been this far before—a little farther, even. And the response in him, the depth of his desire for her, almost tempted him to move past this. But this was Willow, and she needed to go slow, to have time to be sure of herself, and of him, and of herself in his eyes. 

Oz pulled back, his hand still in her hair, breathing hard.

“You sure?” Willow whispered.

He smiled. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

And then she smiled, too, and it was just like it should be. “Then I’m going to go get out of this dress. How do most girls sit in these short skirts?”

Oz relaxed on the couch, watching her as she left the room, his last doubts as to whether being with her again was going to work put to rest.


	11. Snuggled

They watched the first video, Willow snuggled up with her head on Oz’s shoulder, sharing a bowl of popcorn, their fingers meeting occasionally as they reached for a handful of kernels. Whenever that happened, they would share a smile, and a brief kiss.

It wasn’t at all how she had imagined it. In her imagination, they had been in bed, naked, doing … things. But this was better. This felt more like her, like them. Tomorrow maybe her brain would get busy trying to find reasons why Oz not wanting to be with her that way was bad, but for tonight she felt that he understood, and she knew why he wanted to wait. Some part of her was the more excited for waiting, for making their way slowly to that point she had wanted to leap to so precipitously.

Even as the credits rolled, Willow wasn’t entirely sure what movie they had watched, and the second one was even more forgettable, as the kisses they shared every time their fingers met in the popcorn bowl grew longer. Eventually the popcorn ended up all over the floor as they embraced, and the second movie spoke quietly to itself in the room, unheard by either of them.

When the second movie was over, they took a break. Willow cleaned up the popcorn, Oz packed up the videos, and they stood looking at each other in the suddenly clean room. Then Willow reached for his hand. “Come up to my room.”

He gave her one of those inscrutable looks that made her wish she knew what he was thinking, then he smiled and took her hand, and let her lead him up the stairs. Stretching out on her bed, curled up next to him with his heart beating steadily next to her ear and his fingers slowly combing through her hair the way she loved, Willow fell asleep.

She woke to Oz’s voice. “Willow.”

Blinking sleepily, she smiled at him. “Morning already?”

“Kinda not really. Look.”

They both sat up, looking out the window. Yesterday, they had been in the middle of a heat wave; this morning, they woke to snow, the little flakes drifting softly down to cover the ground. “Wow.” Getting up off the bed, Willow walked to the window, looking out. She smiled. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” 

Briefly, Willow wondered if this magic had anything to do with Buffy, or Angel. But then Oz’s hand was in hers, and the snow was falling like in a movie, or a painting, and everything was just … perfect.


	12. Lunch

The Sunnydale High lunchroom had never been Oz’s favorite place, but it had gotten worse since he became a werewolf. His sense of smell was permanently heightened, it seemed, and the odors of lunch didn’t help his queasiness today. He had known that getting back together with Willow would mean hanging with Xander, watching Willow hang with Xander, but he hadn’t really been ready for it.

As luck would have it, he and Xander ended up in line next to one another. There was a moment of silence, in which Xander stood more still than Oz had ever seen him—more still than Oz had known he could stand. Eventually he said, “Hey.”

Oz replied in kind. “Hey.”

Then Xander started twitching, as Oz had known he would. It was gratifying to see Xander so completely unable to keep his composure—after all, he was the injuring party. But it didn’t take long for the inane chatter to start. “So, a burrito,” Xander said as Oz took one.

He looked at it on his plate. Yes, definitely a burrito. “This is a burrito,” he acknowledged.

“Damn straight,” Xander replied, his voice squeaking just a bit. He picked up his tray and left the line. Oz followed him and they found a table by the window. 

Oz studied his tray in silence, wondering if Xander would be able to keep from talking, and if he did talk, if he would be able to keep from putting his foot in his mouth.

Before either of them could say anything, he heard Willow’s voice, a bit higher than usual. She was nervous, too, it seemed. “Hi, Oz.”

“Hey.”

“Xander,” she said, not quite looking at him as she acknowledged his existence. 

Amy was with her, which Oz hoped would ease some of the tension. He liked Amy, he supposed, but he wasn’t sure he trusted her. There was a darkness there, an anger, that made him feel like he wanted to keep his distance. Still, she was Willow’s friend, and anyone who liked Willow had something going for her in Oz’s book.

“Hey, Amy,” he said as she and Willow sat down.

“Hey, guys."

“Hey, Amy,” Xander piped up, sounding a little forced. Oz remembered the botched love spell from last year—would this guy never be done getting himself, and everyone around him, tangled up in messes over his love life? “Like your new hair,” Xander said.

Oz glanced at her; she had cut it short, hanging around her chin. He wasn’t sure he liked it, but then, no one had asked him.

Willow gave him a side glance, and he smiled at her. “I haven’t seen you all day. Where’ve you been?”

“Not with me,” Xander said loudly before she could answer. “No, sir, ask anyone. … No,” he said again, looking around as if he was finally realizing that he was making it worse.

Oz looked at him across the table. What did Willow see in this guy? Was it just the weight of years and memory and childhood friendship? All Oz saw was a klutz, stumbling his way through life, grabbing hold of anyone near him and dragging them down with him. 

Willow didn’t respond to Xander’s lameness, instead looking at Oz with an apologetic smile as the awkward silence stretched and grew heavier.

For Willow’s sake, Oz went hunting for something to say that wouldn’t add to the tension. “So. Buffy’s birthday’s next week.”

Xander clapped his hands, pointing at Oz across the table. “Ooh. Yeah. Good. I’ve been pondering gift options.”

“Shh!” Willow said urgently, lifting her head to look across the cafeteria. 

“Oh, come on, we just got a topic here,” Xander protested.

Willow cut him off. “Hi, Buffy!”

“Buffy! What’s up?” Xander got up from his chair, nearly stumbling over it, making it completely obvious that they had been talking about her.

The Slayer’s mind was on business, it seemed, because she took Xander’s chair without a witty response. She looked stunned and worried, and Oz felt a chill. It was rare that something knocked Buffy’s spirits so low she carried it with her into the school day.

“You guys didn’t hear?” she asked.

“Hear what?” Xander pulled up an extra chair from the next table.

“Murder. Somebody killed two little kids.”

Willow's eyes got big and distressed. “Oh, no."

“They were like seven or eight years old,” Buffy went on. “My mom found the bodies during patrol last night.”

“Oh, my God,” Amy said.

“Kids?” Sunnydale got worse and worse all the time. If Oz were a man given to panic, he’d suspect none of them were getting out of high school alive. 

“Why was your mom there?” Xander asked.

“More bad. She picked last night, of all nights, for a surprise bonding visit.”

“God, your mom would actually take the time to do that with you?” Willow asked, a touch of envy in her voice. Oz hadn’t met her mom, but he’d heard the stories. How anyone could raise a girl like Willow and not want to spend time with her, he couldn’t understand. Buffy turned to look at Willow in surprise, and Willow smiled apologetically. “That really wasn’t the point of the story, was it?”

“No, the point is she’s completely wigging,” Buffy said with a sigh, just as her mother came up beside her.

Mrs. Summers had the same shell-shocked look in her eyes Buffy had. “Who’s wigging?” she asked.

Buffy stood up abruptly. “Um … everyone,” she answered. “You know, ‘cause of what happened.”

“Oh, it’s so awful. I—I had bad dreams about it all night.”

Willow smiled up at her. “Hi, Mrs. Summers.”

Buffy’s mom seemed to see them all for the first time. “Oh, hi, everybody.” Everyone said hi back, but she wasn’t listening. “Buffy, have you talked to Mr. Giles yet about who could have done this?”

“Yeah, he, uh … he thinks it might be something … ritual. A cult.” Buffy hated talking about this stuff with her mom; it was the protector in her, wanting to keep her mother safe, wanting to keep this one last part of her life separate from what she did. Oz thought about his own mom, about certain nightmares he’d had about losing himself to the wolf and hurting her, and he felt for Buffy. “But he’s still looking,” Buffy went on, “and in the meantime we’re gonna … add to my patrol, and, you know, keep an eye out.” Her voice trailed off.

“A cult?” her mother said. “Like … witches.”

Willow started coughing and Amy shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Sorry. Phlegm. Too much … dairy.”

Looking at Willow with concern, Mrs. Summers said, “Oh, I know you kids think that stuff’s cool. Buffy told me you dabble."

“Right. Absolutely. That’s me. I’m a … dabbler.”

Mrs. Summers went on as though Willow hadn’t spoken. “But anybody who could do this isn’t cool. Anybody who could do this has to be a monster, a—“

Buffy reached out a hand and touched her mom’s arm. “You know what? Uh … would you guys excuse us for a little bit?” She drew her mother away from the table.

“Um, nice—nice to see you,” Mrs. Summers said as she followed Buffy, but it was clear her mind was still elsewhere. Oz could understand it—to be a mother, to see little children who must have reminded her of Buffy dead in a horrific fashion … it couldn’t be easy. To know you couldn’t do anything about it, and that you had to let your own child face whatever had done the crime had to be that much worse.

As they left, Xander said, “What a burn. I mean, Buff’s mom was just starting to accept the whole Slayer thing, and now she’s gonna be double-freaked.”

“Makes me grateful that my mom’s not interested in my extracurricular activites,” Willow agreed. She looked at Amy across the table, but Amy kept her thoughts to herself. Her mom was long gone, disappeared into some hell dimension, so Oz understood. He wondered if Amy missed her, and what Amy might have learned from her. Willow frowned. “Or my curricular activities,” she finished, not looking so grateful. Oz reached for her hand, squeezing it, and the table descended into silence again. 

It was a relief when the bell rang signaling the end of the lunch period.


	13. Mothers

The rally was packed. Buffy frowned, looking around the room, clearly unhappy with her mother’s decision to take the children’s killing public. Willow understood both sides, or at least she thought she did. Buffy was used to getting things done on her own; her mother was probably tired of standing by and watching, unable to help or to make things different for her daughter. She admired them both—envied them, really—for the way they tried to protect one another.

And Mrs. Summers was clearly feeling empowered by stepping forward and trying to do something; she was all over the room, talking to everyone. Willow hadn’t known Buffy’s mom knew that many people. She always seemed so … out of the way, really. Not unlike her own mother. She suppressed a sigh, looking around the room, wishing her mother ever cared this much about anything going on in her life.

“This is great,” Buffy said. “Maybe we could all go patrolling together later.”

“Least your mom’s making an effort.” Willow frowned. “My mom’s probably—“ And then she saw the last thing she had expected: her mom, making her way through the crowd in Willow’s direction. “Standing right in front of me, right this second,” she finished in surprise. “Mom?”

“Willow,” her mother said, looking her up and down as if she wasn’t quite sure she was addressing the right person. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.” She looked at Buffy. “Oh, hi, Bunny.”

“Hi.” They had given up correcting Willow’s mom a long time ago.

“What—what are you doing here?” Willow asked. It was hardly her mom’s kind of scene. Not enough people talking abstractedly about things no one else understood.

“Oh, well, I read about it in the paper, and what with your dad out of town, I—“ She stopped, staring at Willow as though there was a bug crawling on her shoulder. “Willow, you cut off your hair!”

Looking away to hide the rolling of her eyes that she couldn’t quite hold back, Willow put a hand up to the offending short cut, tucking a piece nervously behind her ears.

“That’s a new look,” her mom finished.

“Yeah, it’s just a sudden whim I had. In August.”

“I like it.” Her mom turned with a smile, holding her hand out to shake as Buffy’s mom approached. “Hello, Joyce.”

“Sheila, I’m glad you could come.”

Willow bit back a sarcastic remark. So her mom could remember Buffy’s mother’s name, but not Buffy’s? Her greeting had been practically effusive, for her, while a few minutes spent in Willow’s presence seemed almost painfully awkward for her. Not for the first time, she wondered if Buffy’s mom would mind if Willow just moved in with them. Her mom certainly wouldn’t notice if she left.

Giles came up from the other side. Everyone was here, it seemed. “There you are,” Giles said. “I almost couldn’t find you in this crush.” He saw Buffy’s mom, nodding at her awkwardly. “Oh. Uh, Mrs. … uh … Joyce. This is, uh, quite a turnout you have here.”

“Well, it’s not just me, but thank you.” Buffy’s mom seemed equally awkward. “Well, it’s, uh, it’s been a while.”

“Right. Not since, um …”

Buffy and Willow exchanged glances. ‘Not since we were magically reduced to teenagers and made out’ seemed to be the subtext there. Willow wondered if they had done more than made out, but that was the story Buffy had stuck to, and she wasn’t really sure she wanted to know more. Mr. Giles was really too cool for Buffy’s mom, anyway.

“Not since—not for a while,” Giles finished lamely.

“There’s a rumor going around, Mr. Giles,” Willow’s mom said.

“Rumor, about us?” Giles asked, looking alarmed. He stammered a bit, realizing his error, while Buffy looked like she wanted to sink into the floor, Mrs. Summers shot him an outraged look, and Willow tried to bite back a snicker. “What?”

Willow’s mom, oblivious to all the subtext, said, “About witches. That people calling themselves witches are responsible for this brutal crime.”

Suddenly, the conversation was a lot less funny. Willow wasn’t naïve; she knew witchcraft scared people. It should, frankly. It wasn’t for just everyone. But … she could never hurt anyone. Neither could Michael. Or Amy. … Well, probably not Amy, anyway, even if there had been that horrible Valentine’s Day error that had been so embarrassing for everyone.

“Indeed,” Giles said. “How strange.” 

He glanced at Willow, and she couldn’t help a nervous—hysterical, really—giggle. “Yes, strange! Witches, pfft.”

Her mother, as usual, seemed unaware of what anyone else was thinking. She frowned, working her way through it like it was some kind of new theory. “Well, actually, not that strange. I recently coauthored a paper about the rise of mysticism among adolescents.”

She had? Willow had had no idea. For the first time, she wondered if her mother resented Willow’s lack of interest in her life as much as Willow did the reverse. Maybe she’d have to ask her mother some questions the next time they happened to be in the same room together. 

Her mother was still talking. “And I was shocked at the statistical …” She was interrupted by the whine of a microphone, and looked up as though irritated at being interrupted. “Oh, are we starting?”

The Mayor took his place at the microphone. “Hello, everybody.”

Mrs. Summers made her way around the little group, stopping to whisper to Buffy, “He’ll do something about this, you’ll see.”

Putting his hands in his pockets, the Mayor began, “Um … I want to thank you all for coming, in the aftermath of such a tragic crime. Seeing you all here proves what a caring community Sunnydale is. Now, sure, we’ve had our share of misfortunes. But we’re a good town, with good people, and I know that none of us will rest easy until this horrible murder is solved.” He reached down for the placard with the children’s faces on it that everyone was holding. “With that in mind, I make these words my pledge to you: Never again.” He put the placard away. “Now, I ask you give your attention to the woman who brought us all here tonight, Joyce Summers.”

Buffy’s mom made her way through the crowd, taking her place at the podium. Willow could feel the tension in Buffy, her friend’s worry about what her mom might say. 

“Thank you,” Mrs. Summers whispered into the microphone. She hesitated, looking around the room, seeming uncertain as to what to say. At last she seemed to make a decision, and her voice grew stronger as she said, “Mr. Mayor, you’re dead wrong. This is not a good town. How many of us have, have lost someone who—who just disappeared? Or—or got skinned? Or suffered neck rupture? And how many of us have been too afraid to speak out? I—I was supposed to lead us in a moment of silence, but … silence is this town’s disease. For too long, we’ve been plagued by unnatural evils. This isn’t our town anymore, it belongs to the monsters and the witches and the Slayers.”

Willow looked anxiously at Buffy, who was standing stunned, as though her mother had physically struck her. And in a way, she had, by publicly denouncing Buffy as one of the things making Sunnydale a bad town. 

Mrs. Summers went on, “I say it’s time for the grown-ups to take Sunnydale back. I say we start by finding the people who did this and making them pay.”

There was applause and support all around them, even Willow’s own mother applauding. Of course, Willow’s mom didn’t know what Buffy’s mom did, that there were already people out there whose job it was to find the people who did things like this and make them pay. 

She looked at Buffy. “You okay?”

“No. What is she thinking?”

Willow shrugged. “That she wants to be able to make things right?”

“I know, but …” Buffy shook her head. “I need to get out of here. I need to do my job.”

She made her way through the crowd. Willow turned to look for her mom, but she was gone already, as if she had never been there. She looked instead at Giles. “Need some help in the library?”


	14. Attention

Willow was still shaken from the day’s events when she came home. Having her locker gone through, having been walked through the crowd of students as though she were the kind of person who did something wrong, that meeting with Principal Snyder where he was just waiting for her to say the wrong thing and get Buffy in trouble … All she wanted to do was throw herself on her bed and try to sleep.

But in the living room, she found her mother, sorting through a pile of things on the coffee table. Willow’s things. Witch things.

“Oh, sit down, honey,” her mom said distractedly.

Willow did so, shrugging off her backpack. “Principal Snyder talk to you?”

Still not looking at Willow, her mom said, “Yes. He’s quite concerned.”

“Mom, I know what this looks like and I can totally—“

“Oh, you don’t have to explain, honey. I mean, this isn’t exactly a surprise.”

Willow was startled, and confused, and maybe even a little bit relieved. Maybe her mom had been paying attention to her after all. “Why not?”

“Well, identification with mythical icons is perfectly typical of your age group. It’s a classic adolescent response to the pressures of incipient adulthood.”

“Oh. Is that what it is,” Willow said, deflated. Her mom hadn’t been paying attention after all. And here was Willow, checking off another box on her mom’s worksheet, just like she was a toddler hitting some milestone.

“Of course, I wish you could have identified with something a little less icky, but … developmentally speaking …” She was looking at a bag of herbs, as though Willow wasn’t even there, a person, sitting in the same room.

“Mom. I’m not an age group. I’m me. Willow group.”

“Oh, honey. I understand.” Her mom got up and came over to sit down on the couch next to Willow, stroking her hair. So she wasn’t a toddler anymore; now she was five.

“No, you don’t!” Willow turned to her mother, eagerly trying to put into words everything that had been happening to her the last several months. “Mom, this may be hard for you to accept , but—I can do stuff. Nothing bad, or dangerous, but I can do spells.”

“You think you can. And that’s what concerns me: the delusions.”

“Mom, how would you know what I can do? I mean, the last time we had a conversation over three minutes, it was about the patriarchal bias of the Mister Rogers show.”

“Well, with ‘King Friday’ lording it all over the lesser puppets …”

“Mom, you’re not paying attention!”

“And this is your way of trying to get it. Now, I have consulted with some of my colleagues and they agree that this is a cry for discipline. You’re grounded.”

“Grounded?” She had consulted with her colleagues? She couldn’t even parent Willow as if she knew anything about her—it was all in consultation with people Willow had only met at awkward parties. “This is the first time EVER I’ve done something you don’t like, and I’m grounded? I’m supposed to mess up! I’m a teenager, remember?”

“You’re upset,” her mother said, “I hear you.”

“No, Mom, hear this!” Willow got to her feet. Somehow she needed to break through, somehow she needed to make her mother see her, for once, Willow, not some representative of her age group. “I’m a rebel. I’m having a rebellion.”

“Willow, honey,” her mother protested, laughing, “you don’t need to act out like this to prove your specialness.”

Maybe that’s what she thought, but Willow wasn’t sure how else to do it. “I’m not acting out; I’m a witch! I can make pencils float, and I can summon the four elements. Okay, two, but … four soon. And I’m dating a musician!”

Her mother’s face scrunched up at that one. “Oh, Willow.” She got up and went to the coffee table to clean up the mess.

But Willow couldn’t let it go. “I worship Beelzebub! I do his biddings. Do you see any goats around? No, because I sacrifice them.”

“Willow, please,” her mother snapped, and there was a perverse pleasure in having gotten through her academic detachment even that far.

She stretched her arms out dramatically. “All bow before Satan!”

“I’m not listening to this.”

As her mother walked away from her, Willow lost her self-control completely, following her mother and shouting, “Prince of night, I summon you! Come fill me with your black, naughty evil!”

“That’s enough!” her mother barked. “Is that clear?” She got hold of herself with a visible effort. Willow felt powerful, like she’d just done a challenging new spell. She’d been listened to; she’d been seen. Her mother continued, “Now, you will go to your room, and stay there until I say otherwise. We’re going to make some changes,” she went on. “I don’t want you hanging out with those friends of yours. It’s clear where this little obsession came from.” She looked at Willow, fully at her, but it didn’t feel powerful any longer. “You will not speak to Bunny Summers again.”

Willow tried to protest, but her mother’s ears were closed again, and at last she went to her room, as bidden.

If she had been different—if she had been like Buffy, or Cordelia, or even Harmony, would her mother have seen her then? She had tried to be good, to do what she was told, to get good grades and go to school on time and brush her teeth and everything that was expected of her. She had liked being that girl … but somehow it had never been enough. And now it felt as though it was too late.


	15. Hysteria

How it was that Oz had ended up hunting for Giles’s books with Xander, he wasn’t too sure. With Willow grounded, and Buffy on patrol, they seemed to be pretty much all that was left. Oz was glad once more for his taciturn reputation; it made the fact that he had nothing to say to this guy who held the other part of Willow’s heart less awkward.

Of course, Xander was as far from taciturn as you could get, so his constant stream of chatter kept things pretty awkward, but Oz didn’t really listen, so it was all good in the end.

They managed to find the books, even though they were locked up too tight to get at, and reported back to Giles in the library. With Buffy’s realization that no one knew the names of the two dead children, Oz contacted Willow online and together they found the truth, tracing the children’s deaths back, a new incident every fifty years. 

And then Willow disappeared, as though her computer had been taken away. Her mom was getting hard-core, it seemed. In some ways, Oz hoped that maybe that was a good thing; maybe her mom was coming closer to taking an interest in Willow and her life. But it was going to be a long week if she stayed grounded. A long week, or more.

Further discussion and research revealed the names and identities of the children—Hansel and Gretel. Well, of course. Werewolves were real, that was unquestionable, so fairy tales must be, too. It only made sense.

Buffy grabbed her coat, ready to head home and try to talk some sense into her mother. Oz wished her luck; logic rarely worked on the hysterical, and the mothers of Sunnydale had delved pretty deep into the box of Hysteria Crispies. His own mother had been immune—being mother and aunt to a werewolf made the rest of the supernatural a bit less freaksome—but their neighbors had all gone off the deep end about it. 

Before Buffy got to the doors, they burst open, and Michael ran in. His face was covered with blood.

“What happened?” Buffy asked.

“I was attacked.”

Xander, who had been cracking an endless stream of fairy tale jokes, muttered, “Officially not funny.”

“By whom?”

Michael had his arms crossed protectively over his chest, as though he were trying to hide. “My dad, his friends. They’re taking people out of their homes. They’re talking about a trial down at city hall.”

Out of their homes? Oz’s thoughts immediately went to Willow, locked away in her bedroom, helpless, her mother as much under Hansel and Gretel’s sway as anyone.

“They got Amy,” Michael added.

Giles said, “Michael, stay here and hide.”

Oz didn’t think twice. He reached for Xander, knowing that this once they both had the same thought. Xander nodded. “Willow.”

“Tell her to get out of her house!” Michael called after them.

The run from the school to Willow’s house had never seemed so long. Oz felt he was never going to get there, the sidewalks seeming to stick to the soles of his shoes like glue.

They rushed into her house, shouting her name, but the house was empty. Her bedroom, usually immaculate, was a mess. Willow would never have left it like this willingly—she hadn’t left it willingly. Oz could still smell traces of her fear in the air, and he felt that black, consuming rage sweeping over him like a fire. He and Xander turned and ran from the room, heading for the city hall.


	16. Flammable

Willow was scared, and angry, and … and disappointed in her mother. Her mother was a genius, with thirteen honorary degrees and three published books on psychology. How dare she get swept up in some kind of supernatural mass hysteria?

She tried to keep outraged, to stay mad, hoping that would help, but the room was filling up with people, and they were arranging the books around the base of the stakes that Amy and Willow and Buffy were tied to, and there were torches. They were shaping up for a good old-fashioned witch-burning, and Willow had never even been to second base! Although why that should be the thing she thought about in this moment, she wasn’t sure. She’d never been to London, either. Or mastered the fire spell. Or … There were too many “or”s. She needed Buffy to wake up and make this stop.

“Hold still, now, be a good girl,” her mother said behind her, sounding just like she had when Willow was six and had to have a cavity filled.

“No! Why are you doing this to me? Mom!”

But her mother couldn’t hear her; to her mother, it seemed, Willow had ceased to exist, and only the bad witch remained. “There’s no cure but the fire!”

“Buffy! Wake up!” Amy shouted.

“This is crazy, Mom!”

“Buffy! Buffy!”

At last Buffy jerked awake, looking around her in confusion.

Her mother was there, standing next to her. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said gently.

“Mom, you don’t want this.”

Mrs. Summers shook her head. “Since when does it matter what I want? I wanted a normal, happy daughter. Instead, I got a Slayer.”

The three of them struggled against the ropes that bound them to the stake, but not even Buffy could get them to budge.

Willow’s mother picked up a torch and handed it to Buffy’s mom. “Torch,” she said, as though it was part of a ritual.

“Thanks.” Buffy’s mom looked at Willow’s. “This has been so trying; you’ve been such a champ.”

It had been trying for _them_? Willow couldn’t believe them, acting like they were at some kind of tea party.

“You, too, Joyce,” her mom said.

“We should … stay close, have lunch.”

“Oh, I’d like that, how nice.” And then they both bent and lit their torches, ready to burn their daughters at the stake. Willow was pretty darned sure none of that was in any of the parenting books her mother had consulted on.

“You can’t be serious,” Amy said.

Buffy shouted, “Mom, don’t!” as her mother bent to touch the torch to the books.

Old books. Flammable books. Books that would burn so easily it would be like they weren’t there. This was it, Willow realized with a sinking heart. No one was coming to save them, and they were going to die. _Oz_ , she thought. _Xander_.

“All right,” Amy said suddenly. “You want to fry a witch? I’ll give you a witch! Goddess Hecate, work thy will!”

Buffy, who had seen this before, whispered, “Uh-oh.”

Amy’s eyes burned black, a wreath of sparks around her head that Willow didn’t think had come from the books. “Before thee let the unclean thing crawl,” Amy intoned, and then there was no more Amy, and a tiny little rat appeared at the bottom of Amy’s stake and ran off through the crowd, which parted hastily in front of it.

“She couldn’t do us first?” Buffy asked in disbelief.

When it was clear that Amy wasn't coming back, Willow decided she was not about to get burnt alive without at least trying … something. She said, “You’ve seen what we can do! Another step and …” And what? “You will all feel my power!” A little nonspecific, but hopefully effective. Where was Oz? Would he come for her?

“What are you gonna do,” Buffy whispered, “float a pencil at ‘em?”

“It’s a really big power!” Willow said desperately. Her feet were warm. Too warm. Hot, even.

“Yes,” Buffy echoed. “You will all be turned into … vermin. And some of you will be turned into fish! Yeah. You in the back? You’ll be fish.”

A man in the front said, “Maybe we should go.”

Willow felt a surge of confidence. It was working!

And then, from nowhere, two small figures stood in front of them, staring at the assembled adults. “But you promised,” they said in small earnest little-kid voices. “You have to kill the bad girls.”

The flames were closer now. Her feet were a little beyond hot, if she was being honest. “Oh, God, help!” she cried out. She was a little ashamed of it—she wished she was as strong as Buffy—but if someone could hear, someone who wasn’t enthralled by two mythological children, maybe … maybe they could do something.

And then pain. And heat. Hard to think, hard to talk, hard to breathe. Dimly through the flames the horrified, fascinated eyes of the adults of Sunnydale, staring, watching this happen, and over the fire the sounds of the children’s voices. “They hurt us.” “Burn them.”

“Mom! Dead people are talking to you. Do the math!” Buffy shouted.

“I’m sorry, Buffy.”

“Mom, look at me,” Buffy tried again. “You love me. You’re not gonna be able to live with yourself if you do this.”

“You earned this. You toyed with unnatural forces. What kind of a mother would I be if I didn’t punish you?”

Part of Willow, the part that wasn’t consumed with pain and heat, wondered how much of what Mrs. Summers was saying was the truth of her life as the mother of a Slayer. If they got out of this, she and Buffy would have a lot to talk about.

“Buffy, I can’t take it, it’s too hot.” She was close to blubbering like a baby. If you were going to die, did it matter if you looked ridiculous doing it?

“Sorry, Will. None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for me. You wouldn’t be—”

Buffy stopped speaking and Willow wondered briefly if she had lost consciousness. That would be merciful at this point. But then she followed the line of Buffy’s gaze and she saw Giles and … Cordelia bursting into the room. To think, she had lived to be glad to see Cordelia.

Cordelia smashed the glass on the emergency fire hose, drawing the attention of the grown-ups.

“Stop them!”

Giles began chanting something in a language Willow couldn’t comprehend, while Cordelia aimed the hose at their attackers.

But none of it was going to matter, because Willow’s shoelace had caught fire, and with it, the edge of her pants leg. “Buffy, I’m on fire!”

“Cordelia, put out the fire!” Buffy called.

“Oh. Right.” Cordelia turned and aimed the hose at them, the fire steaming as it went out. Blissful cool water, blissful quiet when the flames receded, blissful lack of being flambeed.

Only now that the danger was past did Willow think about the books—burnt and water-damaged and probably ruined. Poor Giles. He loved those books.

When the fire was out, the children came to stand next to Buffy’s mother. Giles was still chanting, and he hurled something at the children’s feet, something that shattered and smoked. They embraced each other and the pair of them slowly grew into one single giant demon.

“Okay, I think I liked the two little ones more than the one big one,” Cordelia said, and for once, Willow thoroughly agree with her.

“Oh, my God!” cried Mrs. Summers.

The demon growled, “Protect us! Kill the bad girls.”

“Know what? Not as convincing in that outfit,” Buffy told it. The demon rushed her, and she struggled in her bonds. The stake broke as she bent forward, and the demon impaled itself on it. 

“Did I get it?” Buffy asked. “Did I get it?”

And then the ceiling burst and two figures burst through, yelling as they landed on the books. Oz, and Xander. Willow wanted to be glad to see both of them, but she was too exhausted to work up the energy.

“We’re here to save you,” Oz said, in his matter-of-fact way.

“Untie me?” she suggested, and he did so, his dexterous musician’s fingers making quick work of the knots. She fell forward into his arms, and felt Xander’s arms close around her on the other side, and she felt safe for the first time in … days.

When the guys let her go, she looked around for her mother, but she was gone.


	17. Remembering

The next morning, Willow’s mother sat at breakfast with the psychology journal she always read while she ate her cornflakes closed. When Willow sat down, her mother actually looked up at her, looking into Willow’s face as though she was really seeing her.

Willow would have loved such a look, if it hadn’t been there because the night before her mother had tried to have her burnt at the stake. “Um … good morning?” she offered brightly, hoping to get past the apologies and the awkwardness quickly.

“Good morning.” Her mother frowned. “You’ve cut your hair.”

“Yes. Yes, I have.” Willow was confused. Hadn’t they already had this conversation?

“I suppose the shorter hair is more efficient in the mornings.”

“It is.”

“I see. And your studies, they’re going well?”

“No complaints.” In fact, her classes were fairly boring, but the question was nice.

“Good. Did I see a stack of completed college applications on the table in the hall?”

Willow nodded, but she couldn’t help frowning. So there weren’t going to be apologies? No ‘I really shouldn’t have had you dragged out of the house by a mob’? She sighed, remembering Buffy’s mom, and all the years of repressing she had done before she finally learned who Buffy was and had to come to terms with it. She supposed she should have expected her mother to simply gloss over the whole experience. Should she come out again and tell her mother she was a witch, about the spells and the potions and the glamours?

No, she thought, watching her mother open the journal to the place she’d left off yesterday. She’d lost the chance, anyway, and the less her parents knew about her extra-curricular activities, the more freedom she had to pursue them. It was better for everyone this way, even if Willow did still wish for parents who actually cared about her. There were so many times when she envied Buffy, even as she was doing the supportive best friend murmurs about how terribly strict and lacking in understanding Mrs. Summers was. A little strictness might be nice for a change, she thought with a sigh.

Putting her banana peel on her plate, she got up to carry it to the kitchen. At the doorway, she heard her mother call her name.

She turned to look at her mother, whose nose was still buried in the article.

“Bring your musician boyfriend to dinner on Friday. I want to talk to him.”

So that’s the part she remembered? Thinking of Oz, Willow smiled. He was worth remembering.


	18. Dinner

The familiar chimes sounded through the house as Oz waited for Mrs. Rosenberg to come to the door. He was bemused by the fact that he was actually nervous. While he had met Willow’s mother before, he was fairly sure she hadn’t really seen him then; he wondered what she would think of him now.

Another guy in Oz’s position might be tempted to enjoy the ironies of the occasion, but Oz knew that despite her parents’ neglect of her, Willow still hoped that someday they would see her for who she was, and appreciate her, and he didn’t want to do anything that might cause her pain or anxiety.

When her mother opened the door, he smiled. “Good evening, Mrs. Rosenberg.”

“Oh, yes, Danny, isn’t it?”

Oz winced; only a few less-than-dear relatives had ever referred to him as Danny, but it didn’t seem worth correcting her. After all, she still called Buffy Bunny—he was probably lucky to have escaped with something as innocuous as Danny. “That’s right.” He offered her the bottle of wine his mother had picked up for him. 

“Thank you.” She didn’t even really look at it, putting it immediately down on a table near the door. Next to Willow’s pile of college applications, he saw. Where would she go, he wondered. The whole world was open to his Willow, waiting for her to go there and become whoever she could be, and he wanted that for her, but thinking about losing her to the world made his heart ache. That he could follow her was a thought he’d had once or twice, but he also knew it did neither of them any favors to make decisions based on their need to be together rather than their own needs as people. It was a discussion he could feel coming sometime soon, but hopefully it wouldn’t come up tonight.

He followed her mother into the living room, where Willow sat nervously waiting for him. She jumped up from the chair when he came in, then thought better of it and sat down again.

“Your friend Danny is here, Willow. Why don’t you get him something to drink?”

“Oh. Sure. Yes. Soda okay?”

“Fine.” He smiled reassuringly at her.

He took a seat, accepted the soda Willow had brought him, and they sat for a few minutes in silence while her mother looked over some papers. At last, she got up and looked at him again, abstractedly. “Come to the table, both of you, and I’ll get the lasagna.” Apparently Willow's father was out of town again; Oz had never met him.

Oz sat across from Willow, trying to catch her eye and get her to smile, but she was clearly too on edge to be calmed.

“So, Danny, Willow tells me you play an instrument?” her mother asked as she heaped lasagna on his plate.

“Yes, guitar. Or try to,” he added.

“You don’t feel you’ve mastered the instrument?” Her interest was clearly more clinical than personal, and he didn’t mind answering the question on that footing.

“It’s hard to truly master an instrument. They still have more to teach as you get better. I have a lot left to learn, let’s put it that way.”

“I see. And you play in some kind of a musical group?”

“A band, yes. We do gigs around the area, whenever we can get someone to pay us.”

“This is a viable future career?”

Oz smiled. “I don’t know about that. There are other things I could do, but—“

“Oz is a genius, Mom,” Willow put in, defensive on his behalf. He smiled at her to let her know she didn’t have to defend him, but he appreciated the thought.

“Hm.” Her mother frowned. “So many geniuses tend to be a bit … scattered, don’t you think? Lacking in focus? Take Willow, for example …”

“Mom,” Willow protested.

“Sorry. I just meant—you can’t seem to narrow down your college choices or your eventual major, and I just worry that you’re wasting your potential.”

“I’ll give it some more thought.” 

“You do that. And you, Danny, have you decided on a college?”

“Not yet. I’ve applied to a few.” He hoped Willow wouldn’t mention the repeating of senior year; that would hardly endear him to her mother, even assuming she remembered the detail later.

“Hm.” Mrs. Rosenberg opened a journal that sat next to her place and read until the end of the meal, while Willow and Oz ate silently, looking at one another across the table.

At last, when their plates were empty, Mrs. Rosenberg looked up. “Oh, are you finished? Willow, can you clear the table? Danny, it was nice to meet you. I hope you’ll come again.” She stood up in a clear dismissal, and he stood, too.

“Thank you for having me,” he said politely. Behind her, Willow made the “call me” gesture with her hand, and he nodded at her.

Outside, he leaned against the door, glad that was over, and sad for Willow. His parents weren’t exactly normal, but they loved him; he’d never had to doubt that. Seeing the way her mother was, his heart went out to his Willow even more—he couldn’t wait to get her on the phone and tell her how proud he was of her.


	19. Cool

Over the weeks since he and Willow had gotten back together, Oz had grown used to having lunch with Xander. Willow often spent her lunch hour studying or helping a teacher, and Buffy was usually in the library with Giles, so the two of them were left to their own devices.

Most often, Oz tuned Xander out. They both had an interest in comic books, so sometimes they talked about those. They never talked about Willow. Apparently they were two manly men who didn’t discuss the fact that they had both kissed the same girl, and that was fine with Oz.

Today Xander’s monologue had something to do with a scuffle he had gotten into on the quad with Jack O’Toole. This raised some minor interest, since Oz couldn’t imagine why Jack O’Toole would even notice Xander, and the somewhat confused explanation of a football accident was more unusual yet, given Xander’s lack of skill in any kind of sport.

“I don’t know,” Xander was saying. “Maybe I should just move on, and stop thinking about it, but I’m not sure I can. I mean, there he was, just standing there, and I’ve got, what, three inches on him, and he’s backing me down like I’m some kind of spineless … thing without a spine.”

“Huh,” Oz said.

“You’re right, he’s just … Jack O’Toole. I shouldn’t let it bother me.”

“Hm.”

“No, that’s a good point—I should figure out what it is that he has that I don’t. I mean, I know what it is. Cool. Jack O’Toole is cool, and Xander Harris is, emphatically, not. Born without it. Should just let it go, forget about it, right?”

Oz considered that for a moment. “Maybe.”

“But … it’s just that it’s buggin’ me, this cool thing. I mean, what is it? How do you get it? Who doesn’t have it? And who decides who doesn’t have it? What is the essence of cool?” 

Moderately intrigued, Oz gave that some actual thought, but it wasn’t something he’d ever felt the need to define. “Not sure.”

“I mean, you yourself, Oz, are considered more or less cool.” Xander studied him like a bug under a microscope for a moment, then shook his head, clearly not seeing it. “Why is that?”

Oz offered, “Am I?” It wasn’t something he particularly tried to be. He mostly just didn’t care what people thought, or at least, about what the general population thought. As long as he was a guy he was comfortable looking in the eye every morning, that was good enough for him.

“Is it about the talking? You know, the way you tend to express yourself in short, noncommittal phrases?”

If it was, Xander could give up all hope of ever being cool; lack of talking was never going to be his defining characteristic. “It could be.”

“No—you’re in a band! That’s like a business class ticket to cool with complimentary mojo after takeoff.” Xander ran with that for a moment. “I’ve gotta learn an instrument. Is it hard to play guitar?”

Oz shook his head. “Not the way I play it.” For him, it was more the experience of playing than the sound, which never quite got exactly where he wanted it.

“Okay, but on the other hand … eighth grade, I’m taking the flugelhorn and getting zero trim. So the whole instrument thing could be a mistake.”

It was amazing the way Xander talked himself into and out of things. Oz continued to be astonished at the deep bond between this guy, all over the place, almost proud of his lack of achievement, and his sweet, brilliant, overachieving Willow. Maybe that was why—maybe because Xander loved her even when she broke things and did badly in class, a luxury her parents had never offered her. Oz loved her that way, too, but he could sense that she wanted to seem her best for him, and that she could relax more around Xander, knowing he had already seen all the lesser parts of her.

“I need a thing,” Xander said. “One thing nobody else has. What do I have?”

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it? Xander was always looking for his own identity, never sure of who he was or what he had to offer. Since Oz really wasn’t sure who Xander was, he didn’t think he was much help. “An exciting new obsession,” he answered. “Which I feel makes you very special.”

Xander nodded. “Now with the mocking. Which I can handle because I know I’m right about this. I’m on the track. I just need to find my thing.”

He wasn’t wrong, so Oz offered some actual thoughts. Helping Xander helped Willow, in the end, and might make Xander more interesting to hang out with. “It seems like you’re overthinking it. I mean, you’ve got some identity issues—it’s not atypical. I mean, everyone does, more or less.”

“But you don’t—“

Oz cut him off with a look, a look that said, “Hello, werewolf?”

“Huh,” Xander said. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Still … a little contemplation never hurt.”

“I suppose not.” Oz got up and retrieved his lunch tray. “Good luck figuring it out.”


	20. Instrumental

Willow dropped onto her bed, lying back with a sigh. “To think how many times yesterday I thought I was never going to get a good night’s sleep—or any night’s sleep—again.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you.” Oz sat next to her on the bed, stroking her hair. Willow curled into the caress with a contented sigh, like a cat. 

She had told him about the opening of the Hellmouth and the way they had all had to fight to get it closed again. There had been fear in her voice as she spoke, and awe at what she had seen, but there had been pride, too. She had fought next to the two Slayers and the vampire and the Watcher, and she had held her own. Willow Rosenberg, who was used to thinking of herself as weak and helpless and pathetic, the way most of the world saw her, had fought a demon. She had seen its true face, and she had lived to tell about it. She had been instrumental in sending it back where it had come from. 

Most days now, Oz was all right with his identity as a werewolf, but every once in a while a moment like this occurred, when he missed something important because of the wolf. How he wished he had been there, fighting at her side. Instead, he had been tranked out in the boiler room while Willow fought for her life.

“You were there. At least, I knew you were in the same building,” she said sleepily. “I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.”

He smiled. “I know you wouldn’t have.”

Willow sat up abruptly, looking at him earnestly. “Ooh, but—I’m sorry I shot you. With the tranquilizer dart.”

“I forgive you.” Oz reached for her, pulling her into his arms, and kissed her. Willow kissed him back, the familiarity of her mouth against his warming him all the way through. But when he would have deepened the kiss, she pulled away, yawning widely.

“I’m sorry. I’m not much fun tonight. Saving the world’s a lot more tiring than people think.” She yawned again. “Especially with no super powers.”

Oz tugged the covers back, tucking her in, then he resumed his spot on the side of the bed, stroking her hair. “You don’t have to be fun all the time. I like you when you’re exhausted, and focused, and shy, and cranky. I pretty much like the whole Willow package.”

She opened one eye and looked up at him skeptically. “Cranky?”

He shrugged. 

Willow smiled and snuggled back into the pillow, closing her eye again. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“No need,” he whispered, but she was already asleep. Oz sat there for a long time, stroking her hair, watching her sleep, thinking how lucky he was.


	21. Exploration

The credits rolled on the TV screen, but Oz had already forgotten what the movie had been. He was entranced with just holding Willow’s hand, tracing the lines across her palm with his thumb, sliding his fingers along hers, feeling the instinctive curl of her hand around his. He had come so close to losing her, first to the Hansel and Gretel demon and then to the opening of the Hellmouth, and hadn’t been able to help her either time. That she had come through them both, and come through a stronger, more determined person, far more sure of herself than she had ever been before, was a credit to her. He had always known she had it in her, but now she was beginning to learn that, too, and it made her irresistible to him.

“Oz,” she said softly, her voice a mere whisper. He looked up from her hand, that small hand with so much power hidden in its sinews, and met her eyes. “We should—“ She caught her breath as he stroked his thumb across her palm, and then tried again. “My parents.”

“I thought you said they were gone all night.”

“It’s almost one. For parents, that is all night.”

She was right. He should let her go and head home. No one was looking for him; his parents trusted him, and they knew he was often out late with the band. But Willow’s parents still expected her to be more or less normal … as much as they expected anything of her at all. 

Except that he didn’t want to let go. His blood was heated from her touch, and his arms felt empty without her in them. “Maybe … we could go upstairs.” His voice was husky in his ears.  
Willow’s hand stiffened in his. “You mean … upstairs upstairs? Tonight?”

He deliberately gentled his touch, soothing rather than stimulating. Part of the delight of being with Willow was learning what helped her calm down, what eased her fears and made her brave again. “Not upstairs upstairs, not yet. I mean, take it slow. I just … I’m not ready to let go of you yet.”

“Oh.” She smiled. “In that case.” Willow stood up, tugging on their joined hands to get Oz to stand up, too, and led the way to her bedroom. Once there, with the door closed behind them, he could feel her beginning to tense, almost hear her wondering what happened now and what was expected of her, and to help her get out of her head a little he lifted her hand, still held firmly in his, to his mouth and began to move his lips softly over the ball of her thumb.

Willow caught her breath in a delightful little gasp and he reached out with his other arm, wrapping it around her waist and bringing her closer to him so that he could kiss her.

Oz never got tired of this, the feel of Willow in his arms, the slow melt of her initial worries into pure enjoyment. He found her tongue, cupping her cheek to hold her head still while they kissed, then moved his hand around to the back of her head, his fingers sliding through the silky red strands of her hair. Still kissing her, he walked her slowly backward until they reached the edge of her bed.

He pulled back, then, waiting for her eyes to open. “Should I go?”

“No! No, stay. Please.” Sinking back on the bed, she tugged on his shirt to get him to lie down with her. As he stretched out next to her, Willow’s hand stayed where it was, and then slowly her fingers found their way under his shirt and up over his stomach.

Oz caught his breath at the exploration, and Willow’s fingers stilled. He put his hand on hers. “It’s okay.”

“I just …” She frowned a little, and Oz bent to kiss the little wrinkle away from above her nose.

“Like this.” He moved his other hand under her sweater, biting back a moan at the feel of her soft skin under his fingers. 

“Oz.” It was little more than a breath. Wilow closed her eyes as his hand moved up and up, stopping just below her breast. Then he moved it just that little bit more so that his hand was cupped around the soft curve. “Oz,” she said again, something halfway between a sigh and a protest. 

“Willow?” He would stop if she wanted him to, but he hoped she wouldn’t. He couldn’t help moving his hand just a little, a gentle massaging motion, and Willow’s back arched immediately, pressing her breast more firmly against his hand.

Taking that as a yes, he moved his thumb until he could feel her nipple beneath the fabric of her bra, and he traced a circle, feeling the nipple harden under his touch. 

Willow’s eyes flew open, and her free hand came halfway up, as if to stop him, and then fell back to her side. The hand he had trapped against his stomach curved reflexively, the short nails digging into his skin just a bit.

It was suddenly too warm in the room. Oz let go of Willow, both breast and hand, and sat up, stripping off his T-shirt. Her little moan of protest at the loss of contact was delicious, and he bent to kiss her again, harder than before.

“Wait. Oz.” She pushed at him, and he pulled back reluctantly.

Willow sat up. She took a deep breath, and then she pulled her sweater off over her head, sitting there in front of him in just her bra.

“Will, are you sure about this?”

For answer, she reached out, placing her palm flat against his chest. Oz put his hand over hers again, holding her there, drinking in her touch.

Oz tugged on her hand, pulling her toward him as he lay back, until they lay together, bare skin pressed against bare skin. “Willow.”

Hesitantly, her mouth sought his, her fingers curling against his chest as they kissed again. He kissed her neck, and her collarbone, both of his hands reaching for her breasts again as he rolled them over so that he was above her. He wanted to move his mouth lower, taste the softness his hands were massaging, but he wanted her too much—he didn’t dare take it too far too fast. This was the farthest they had ever been, and when they went beyond it, he wanted her to be ready. So he kept his mouth on her neck, venturing along the top of her shoulder, but no further.

Willow’s breath was coming heavily now, and he could feel the restless movements of her hips underneath him. He had been careful to lie at an angle to avoid direct contact, sure that she wasn’t ready for that yet. Her hands were on his shoulders now, moving over his back, exploring, and he delighted in her increasing bravery.

Then they heard feet on the stairs, voices in the hallway, and they both froze. Her parents went on past her room without stopping, but Oz could feel that the moment was broken. He withdrew, sitting up, catching her hand in his and bringing it to his lips for a final, gentle kiss. 

She was watching him with worried eyes, unsure how she felt about what they had just done, and he was glad they had stopped when they did. “You are an extraordinary human, do you know that?”

Willow gripped his hand tightly in response, then let go. Oz got up from the bed and retrieved his shirt, pulling it back on. He looked at her again, lying on the bed with a pillow clutched against her naked stomach, and gave her a smile, relieved to get one back.

“Good-night, Will.”

“Good-night, Oz.”


	22. Test

“All right, chem test,” Willow said under her breath as she took her seat next to Xander. “Do your worst. I’m ready for you.”

“When aren’t you ready for a test?” Xander asked.

“There are times.”

Buffy slid in just before the bell rang, and had turned around in her seat almost before she was actually sitting on it. “You guys, I have to tell you about this fight last night. Faith and I stumbled onto this nest of vamps. Big vamps, with swords.”

“Real metal swords?” Xander asked.

“Big ones! And we were losing big-time—these guys are some of the strongest vamps I’ve ever been up against. One of them had Faith pinned to the wall, and I threw a stake and got him, bam, right in the back.”

Willow had rarely seen Buffy this excited about slaying. On the one hand, it was nice to see her friend enthusiastic—too often slaying seemed to pull Buffy down into a sad place—but on the other … she kind of sounded like Faith.

“So then one of them grabbed me and he was holding me down under the water. Man, I hate it when they drown me! Have I ever told you guys how much I hate it when they drown me?”

“Couple of times,” Willow said, nodding. She hated the idea of Buffy in danger with no one more trustworthy than Faith to watch her back. “Buffy, about the test—“

“Test?” Buffy glanced over her shoulder. The teacher was passing out the test papers. “Oh, yeah, the test. Anyway, so I held my breath and went still, so he’d think he killed me, and as soon as he let go I grabbed a sword and bam! went after him. It was intense. It was like I just … let go and became this force. I just didn’t care anymore.”

Willow had felt the same kind of thing doing spells. It was freeing; intoxicating. It certainly explained Buffy’s animation. “Yeah, I know what that’s like,” she said.

But Buffy wasn’t with her in the bonding; she was still far away in that dark cave, fighting. “I don’t think you can. It’s … kind of a Slayer thing.”

Of course it was. 

Behind Buffy, her test paper landed on her desk. Buffy glanced around briefly, then looked back at Willow and Xander, almost apologetically. “I don’t even think I’m explaining it well."

“You’re explaining it a lot, though,” Xander whispered. He reached for his own test paper, and then the teacher handed Willow hers.

“All right, you have one period to fill out your test booklets. Periodic charts are located on the back. You’re on the honor system, so remember, no talking.” 

The teacher returned to her desk, and Willow looked down at her paper. She visualized her notes in her mind, looking at the first question. She could see the answer—

“See, the thing was,” Buffy said, leaning back toward them without even looking at her paper, “Faith knew that I didn’t want to go down there—“

The teacher cleared her throat, and Buffy turned back to look at her. “Miss Summers?” Buffy made a locking her mouth and throwing away the key gesture, and the teacher nodded. “You have one hour.”

As soon as the teacher’s back was turned, though, as soon as Willow was back in chemistry zone, Buffy was leaning over again. “Okay, so the best part—“

“Buffy. Test? Remember, you know … the thing you didn’t come over to study for.” Willow hadn’t meant to let her hurt and bitterness slip out, but slip out it had.

“Oh, right.” Buffy didn’t look at all apologetic, and suddenly Willow felt a lot less bad about being bitter … and not too awful when she thought about the bad grade Buffy was likely to get. Buffy turned back to her paper, but after only a second she was at their table again, with a muttered “sorry” at Willow as she leaned closer to Xander. “So we’re down there in the sewers, Faith’s got three of them on her at once …”

“Hey. Can we resume Buffy’s ode to Faith later, like when I’m not actively multiple choicing?”

Willow glanced at Xander in surprise. He was usually way game for a during-the-test chat, anything to avoid actually focusing on his work. Buffy looked surprised, too, and a little hurt.

“How come your eye twitches every time I say Faith’s name?” she asked him.

Xander looked at her. From where she sat, Willow couldn’t see an eye twitch, but there was definitely something suspicious about the fake bewilderment in his voice when he spoke. “What? No, it doesn’t.”

Buffy whispered, “Faith,” and Xander clapped a hand over his eye. Willow wished she knew enough magic to conjure them both somewhere far away and painful. Like on top of a cactus.

“Cut it out!” Xander said. “We’ve got a test to take, okay, and I’m highly caffeinated and trying to concentrate. Some of us actually care about school.”

It would have been more convincing if he hadn’t still had his hand firmly over his eye—and if Willow hadn’t known him so well. She kept her head down, her eyes on her paper, her pencil moving over it, but she had no idea what she was writing.

Just as Buffy reluctantly returned to her own seat and opened her booklet, a knock came at the window, and they all looked up to see Faith standing outside. She popped open the window. “Hey, girlfriend. Bad time?” Without waiting for an answer, she moved to the other window, breathing on it, then drew a heart with a stake through it, glancing at Buffy questioningly. Buffy looked at her paper, over her shoulder at Willow, and then leaned down to get her bag. 

“No,” Willow said. “She can’t! You can’t, can you?” But Buffy didn’t hear her—she was focused entirely on Faith. And if Willow didn’t miss her guess, Faith gave her a pitying look before she closed the window after Buffy.

It took all her effort to concentrate on chemistry after that, and she was fairly sure she’d missed a question … and she didn’t even care.


	23. Trouble

There was homework to do. There really was. Lots of it. Normally, Willow would have been deep into it by now, or she would have been researching things for Giles, or studying spells, or … but she couldn’t concentrate. Instead of doing any of those things, she was flipping through pictures of cats. Cute, adorable cats. She’d always wanted a kitten.

She hit the mouse button and another picture came up. It was the cutest thing ever, a wee little kitten, claws out, pretending to be fierce. Willow skipped past it. 

Someone tapped on her door, and Willow wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not. Did she really want to be disturbed? On the other hand, any distraction sounded better than more pictures of cats.

She got up and opened the door and found Buffy standing there.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

They stood there in awkward, very un-best-friend-like silence until Buffy said, “I need to talk to you.”

“Good.” Willow stepped back, gesturing for Buffy to come into the room. It was time to clear the air; she didn’t want to be someone who didn’t deal with her issues. Not anymore. “’Cause I’ve been letting things fester, and … I don’t like it. I want to be fester-free.” She sat down on the bed as Buffy closed the door.

Buffy paused, as if she wasn’t sure what to say. “Yeah,” she said at last. “Me, too.”

“I mean …” Willow got up, the flow of words too much to sit still through. “Don’t get me wrong, I—I completely understand why you and Faith have been doing the bonding thing. You guys work together, you … you should get along.”

As she spoke, Buffy’s face crumpled, as if she was about to cry. “It’s more complicated than that.”

Those words, those dismissive words, set a match to Willow’s temper. “But see, it’s that exact thing that’s ticking me off! It’s this whole ‘Slayers only’ attitude. Since when wouldn’t I understand?” she added more softly. “You talk to me about everything. It—it’s like, all of a sudden, I’m not cool enough for you because I can’t kill things with my bare hands.”

Buffy put a hand over her mouth and dissolved in tears, and Willow felt as bad as if she had just kicked one of those adorable kittens in the pictures. 

“Oh! Oh, Buffy. Don’t cry! I—I’m sorry.” She put her arms around Buffy, holding her close, feeling her best friend shake in her arms as she wept. “I was too hard on you. Sometimes I unleash—I don’t know my own strength. I—it—it’s bad. I’m bad!” She was babbling now, but all she wanted was for Buffy to stop crying and to make it all right between them again. “I’m a bad, bad, bad person!”

She and Buffy were staring at each other now, Buffy’s face still in pain and wet with tears, as if she hadn’t even heard any of Willow’s apologies. At last she said, “Will, I’m in trouble.”

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?”

“Do you—“ Buffy’s lip trembled as if she was about to cry again. “Did you hear about the deputy mayor?”

“Yes! I was worried about you. Were you—were you there?”

“I was. I—“

Then Willow knew. “Faith. Faith killed him.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you wouldn’t have. And if you had, you would have gone to Giles,” Willow said, sure of it. She knew her friend.

“You’re right. It was Faith. And now she won’t even—it’s like she doesn’t even understand what she did. And the police, and … and my mom, you could tell she wasn’t sure what to think. Will, what if she thinks I’m a killer?”

Buffy dissolved in tears again, and Willow held her for a long time, until they dried up. She led Buffy to the bed and gave her tissues to dry her tears and blow her nose, and waited until Buffy was calm again before asking any questions.

“Thanks, Will. I’m so sorry things have been weird between us. It shouldn’t have happened—it was my fault, and I won’t let it happen again.”

“No, it was my fault, too. I didn’t speak up, or stand up for myself, and I—I need to learn how to do that.” They hugged again, a friendship-affirming hug that made Willow feel better, until she remembered the deputy mayor and didn’t feel any better at all. “So you and Faith lied to the police?” No real surprise there, she thought.

“And to Wesley and Giles. Oh, God, Willow, how do I look Giles in the face again? You know he’ll know. He can read me like a book. And then Faith—she acts like she doesn’t even care. The way she talks, it’s like she didn’t even make a mistake.”

Willow wanted to ask Buffy what she had expected. Faith, admit she had done something wrong? Hardly. But this wasn’t the time—Buffy was too upset for Willow’s bitterness about Faith. She searched for a charitable reason for Faith’s reaction. “Do you think she’s … in shock?”

She could tell Buffy wanted to think so, or to think anything that would make Faith a better person. “I—I don’t know. And I think that detective knows more than he’s saying. I think he knew that I was lying.”

There was really nothing left. Willow couldn’t help with this, and Buffy couldn’t manage it on her own. “You have to go to Giles, Buffy. He’ll know what to do.”

“But I already lied to him, this morning.”

“You can tell him you were waiting to see what Faith would say. Or that you were scared, or … just tell him that you didn’t know what to do, so you followed Faith’s lead.”

“I don’t know why.”

“I do. You were trying to give her the chance to solve the problem herself. You were believing in her. It’s what you do.” Willow reached for Buffy, hugging her.

“I love you, Will.”

“Me, too.”


	24. Connection

Part of Willow was meanly glad that Faith had finally shown her true colors. Not glad that Faith had killed someone, but that Faith had gone so far, at last, that Buffy had no choice but to see her as who, and what, she truly was. Sitting in the empty cafeteria on a Saturday, discussing it, Willow had to admit that what she really wanted to see was Faith getting what was coming to her. It was a feeling she didn’t particularly like—she had never really felt it before—but she couldn’t deny it.

Buffy really wanted to try to pull Faith back from the edge, though, and like a truly supportive friend, Willow was trying to be on board with that. “Maybe we should all talk to Faith together,” she suggested. Secretly, she had to admit to herself that it was as much to be able to say some things to Faith that she had always wanted to say as anything else, but hopefully no one else could tell that was what she was thinking.

Anyway, Buffy wasn’t biting. She gave Willow a skeptical look. “You mean, like that intervention you guys did on me? As I recall, Xander and I nearly came to blows.”

“Uh, you nearly came to blows, Buffy. I nearly came to loss of limbs,” Xander corrected her.

Giles sighed. He looked as if he hadn’t had much sleep recently. Probably worrying about Faith. Was there no end to the ways that girl was going to mess with Willow’s family? “Faith is too defensive for that kind of confrontation. She’d respond better to a one-on-one approach.”

Xander immediately volunteered. “I can be the one. On her one.”

There was a pause. Buffy glanced at him sideways, and Giles frowned.

“Let’s rephrase. I think she might listen to me. We kind of have, um, a … connection.”

Willow narrowed her eyes. Xander and Faith had a connection? News to her.

Giles’s frown deepened, and Buffy said skeptically, “A connection? Why would you think that—“

“I’m just sayin’ it’s worth a shot. That’s all.”

“No, I don’t see it, Xander. I mean, of all of us, you’re the one person, arguably, that Faith has had the least contact with.”

“Yeah, but we hung out a little … recently, and she seemed to be, um, responsive.” Xander was being twitchy. Why was Xander being twitchy, Willow wondered, other than the fact that Faith was a girl and girls always made him twitchy? You’d think he’d have learned not to be that way, after all that time with Cordelia. 

Oh, God. That was it. Xander and Faith had had sex.

Willow felt a sharp, stabbing pain in the gut. Faith had taken Xander’s virginity? Because there was no doubt whose idea it had been, who had been in charge. She could almost see it—and she didn’t want to see it. She wanted to cry.

“When did you guys hang out?” Buffy was asking. She hadn’t gotten it yet. She would, though. Xander would make sure of that. For as much as he didn’t want to admit what he had done, he wanted them all to know.

“She was fighting one of those apocalypse demon things, and I helped her. Gave her a ride home.” Yeah, there was no doubt about it now. That shy, half-ashamed half-knowing look. That was sex.

“And you guys talked?”

Willow wanted to shout at Buffy. How had she not figured it out yet? Did Faith talk? Faith was not one for the talking. 

“Not extensively, no.”

“Then why would you th—“ Buffy stopped abruptly, and Willow knew she knew. “Oh.”

Giles’s eyes widened and he sat up, echoing Buffy. “Oh.”

Xander looked shame-facedly down at his shoes, and Buffy and Giles both looked at Willow, apparently unaware how far ahead of them she was in this particular conversation. “I don’t need to say ‘oh’, I got it before. They slept together.” She kept her eyes on Giles, unable to look at Xander.

There was a silence while Buffy and Giles stared at each other and Willow and Xander refused to look up. At last Giles said, “Fine, fine, let’s move on.”

“I … Look, I know that you mean well, Xander,” Buffy began, stumbling awkwardly over the words. “But, um, I just don’t see Faith opening up to you. She … doesn’t take the guys that she has a … connection with … very seriously.”

Xander didn’t want to believe her; Willow could tell from his face. She was sad for him, and a little angry at him. Had he really thought sex with Faith had strings attached? Or emotions?

“And, um, they’re kind of a big joke to her. No offense,” Buffy added hastily.

After a pause, Xander laughed, bitterly. “Oh, no. I mean, why would I be offended by that?”

Giles said, “However, if you want to be of assistance, I could use some help in research.” That he could tell how dismissive it sounded was obvious by how many times he stumbled over the words. “There’s still the business of the Mayor and Mr. Trick to attend to.”

Willow could feel Xander looking at her, but she couldn’t move. If she looked at him, she didn’t know what she would say. It wasn’t his fault … she supposed, but … with Faith? And to think that she cared about him? What kind of an idiot was he? It was true, men really did think with their lower half.

In the silence, Buffy said, “Yeah, they seemed pretty cozy the other night.”

“Yes. Uh, Willow …” Giles was still stammering. “Can you, um, access the Mayor’s files?”

Willow had heard them talking, but she hadn’t really been listening. She looked up at Giles, trying to make sense of what he had said. “What? Oh! Yeah, sure, I can try.” 

“Good! Yes, because clearly he, uh … We need to take a harder look at him, he’s … um, obviously up to something.” As he spoke, Giles got to his feet, picking up his chair and putting it back on top of the table with all the others in the empty cafeteria.

Willow and Xander still couldn’t look at each other. Buffy sat forward in her chair, asking, “What about Faith?” 

Giles looked at her, hesitating. At last he admitted, “I don’t know. We need time.”

“Well, she needs help now,” Buffy insisted. Willow wished she would just let it go. Hadn’t all their lives been better before Faith ever came to Sunnydale? Buffy and Giles looked at each other helplessly, and Buffy finished, “I owe her that.”

As far as Willow was concerned, all anyone owed Faith was a swift kick in the pants, but she couldn’t stay any longer. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes, and she wasn’t going to let Xander see that—or Buffy, for that matter, or Giles. She muttered something noncommittal as she got up and hurried out of the room, and then she hid in the bathroom, unable to stop crying. 

What was it she was mourning? Xander’s lost innocence? What business was that of hers, except that she loved Xander like a brother? Was she regretting that Xander had moved on from their brief affair to an even more ill-considered decision, or feeling guilty that she had cheated on Oz with someone who had such bad taste in women? After all, Cordelia and Faith … could he have chosen two less worthy recipients of his affection? Was there something wrong with her, with Willow? It was a disloyal thought to Oz … but then, Oz didn’t seem anxious to push their relationship onward, either, to that level. And now Xander had moved on to a whole different level of experience than Willow, with a woman who didn’t deserve that part of him.

It was a long time before Willow could be sure the tears were gone and she was ready to come out of the bathroom.


	25. Objective

In the library that night, Willow sat and listened to the story of an almost-redeemed Faith taken by the Watchers’ Council, and she wondered what it was that everyone else saw in the other Slayer that she didn’t … or what she saw that the others were blind to. Because she didn’t care if Faith were taken away, or if she were redeemed. And she didn’t believe Faith could be redeemed, or that she wanted to be. 

But she knew those thoughts would hurt Buffy, and in a different way Giles, and now apparently Xander and Angel, too, in their own ways, so she kept them to herself.

“It was the new Watcher,” Angel was saying. “He had a couple of guys helping him.”

“Then he figured it out?” Willow asked. She hadn’t known the new Watcher was privy to the secret of who had killed the deputy mayor. Maybe he was smarter than they all gave him credit for.

Giles sighed with exasperation. “Which means that Faith will be soon on her way back to England to face the Watchers’ Council.”

Willow knew Giles hadn’t had the best experiences with the Council recently, but weren’t situations like this pretty much what it existed for?

“And then what?” Buffy asked. She looked exhausted; Faith had really put her through the wringer the last few days.

“Most likely, they’ll lock her away for a good long while.”

“So we head them off at the airport and stop them,” Buffy said with determination.

Willow couldn’t take it any more. Why should they go to so much effort for a girl who didn’t care a thing about any of them? But she didn’t want her bitterness to show, and she was afraid it would be her bitterness speaking. Carefully, she said, “Can I—I’m just wondering … Why?”

Buffy turned to look at her, not following Willow’s thoughts. 

Not wanting to hurt her friend, Willow continued, still carefully. “I’m not the most objective, I know. I kind of have an issue with Faith … sharing my people.” She didn’t look at Xander, and she was grateful that Oz wasn’t here, so that he didn’t misinterpret—or correctly interpret, she really wasn’t sure—her unhappiness over Faith and Xander. “But she murdered someone and accused Buffy. Then she hurt Xander.” The marks on his throat made Willow want to hurt Faith back, with magic, or her bare hands, whatever she could use. “I hate to say it, but maybe she belongs behind bars.”

Giles couldn’t think of anything to say to that. His eyes dropped, and Willow felt badly, because he seemed to feel Faith’s issues were his fault, when they were really something she had brought with her when she came to Sunnydale.

Buffy said wearily, “She’s out of control, I know. But Angel was getting somewhere with her. She was opening up. If we could just stop Wesley—“

Willow’s impatience with Buffy insisting there was good somewhere in Faith’s black heart was cut off along with Buffy’s words by Wesley’s own entrance.

“That’s no longer an issue,” he said.

“You let her get away?” Buffy’s voice dripped with contempt. Willow almost felt bad for the new Watcher.

There was a fresh bruise on the side of Wesley’s face. “’Let’ wouldn’t be the way I’d phrase it, but … yes. She escaped.” He looked ashamed of himself. Giles rolled his eyes.

Angel said, “Good work. First you terrorize her, then you put her back on the streets.”

“That was hardly my plan,” Wesley protested. “I was trying to save her.”

“But you didn’t! You probably destroyed her!”

“Buffy,” Giles said quietly, but with authority. “That’s enough,” he added more softly.

Willow could see that Buffy wanted to argue, but Giles was right; Wesley had tried to do the right thing as he understood it, got himself in over his head, and failed. There was nothing to do now but clean up his mess and go try to save Faith from herself. Again.

“Better find her before she does any more damage,” Buffy muttered. She got up, picking up her coat, giving them all her marching orders. Xander and Willow were assigned Faith’s ‘haunts’, and dutifully they started the rounds. Willow had never wanted less to be with Xander, and never wanted more to just go home and forget about all of this dark side of Sunnydale and her role in protecting people from it. To think, she could be a normal girl, doing homework, instead of helping in this fool’s errand.


	26. Jealousy

All the way home from his gig, Oz had been looking forward to tonight with Willow, just hanging out, holding her hand, listening to her tell him about the last couple of days. But the thing with Faith had her completely off-kilter. He’d gotten a few remarkably terse sentences about how it had all gone down, about Faith saving Buffy’s life and then running off, and then the conversation had trailed off entirely.

Now they were just sitting here on his couch in silence, and while Oz was pretty okay with silence most of the time, this one wasn’t okay at all.

“So … what’s Giles going to do now?”

Willow shrugged. “I guess nothing. Because she’s Faith, and Faith can do anything and people will just … take her back. Like nothing ever happened.”

“And the investigation?”

Another shrug. “Buffy hasn’t heard anything. She’s hoping they’ll just drop it.”

“And the Watcher’s Council?”

“I think Wesley talked them into letting him handle it.” Willow turned to him suddenly. “Can we stop talking about this now?”

“Sure.”

“Maybe … we could stop talking altogether.” She leaned in, resting against his chest. Oz wound his arm around her waist, tangling his hand in her silky red hair. It was a pretty fast segue, especially for her, but if this was what she needed right now, he had no objections.

Willow kissed him, more aggressively than she usually did, and Oz opened his mouth for her, letting her lead. There was a feverishness about the kiss, almost a desperation, that had him not entirely engaged in what they were doing, trying to work out what was going on here.

Gradually, Willow shifted until she was straddling his lap, still kissing him, running her fingers through his hair. He was enjoying this more confident version of her, even while he wondered where it had come from.

Then she started moving, shifting her hips, rubbing herself against him, and warning bells went off in Oz’s mind. Not that he didn’t want her to do that … but she’d never done anything like it before. And this felt more like something she thought she should do than something she was really into.

Gently, he disengaged from the kiss and put his hands on her hips to stop her from moving. “Willow.”

“What? Don’t you … don’t you like it?”

“Yeah. I mean, I guess. But I kinda get the feeling I missed something, and I want to catch up before … anything else happens.”

“Oh.” She let him nudge her off of his lap. “I should’ve known.”

“Should’ve known what?”

“Well, you never try anything you shouldn’t, and even though I know you’ve done … things before, you mostly don’t seem to want to do them with me. I’m sorry I’m not sexy enough for you,” she finished bitterly.

“That’s … not exactly what I was thinking. We’ve been over this, Willow. I want—I want to be with you when it’s the right time. When all we’re thinking of is each other. And I kinda get the feeling that you’re not really thinking about me right now.”

She looked down, her hair falling in front of her face. “I just thought—don’t you get … I mean, you want to, don’t you?”

“With all my heart.” Oz reached for her hand. “I think about you … that way. You know that, right?”

“Then why won’t you—“ She looked up at him, that little frown line forming between her eyes.

“Because I want it to be special. For you, and for me. Come here.” He tugged on her hand until she was nestled against his chest, her head on his shoulder. Oz stroked her hair gently. “You want to tell me what brought all this on?”

She stiffened against him and pulled away. “Not really.”

He thought back on what she’d told him about the last couple of days. It had all been Faith, Faith and Buffy and the deputy mayor. He knew Willow was jealous of Faith, but it sounded like Willow and Buffy were back in a good place together again, so it couldn’t be that. Then the light dawned, a chill working its way through him, and he stood up. “Xander. Xander and Faith. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Willow nodded, not looking at him.

“And you thought that somehow you needed to catch up?”

“No!”

“Then what, exactly, were you thinking?” His voice sounded cold to his ears, but he wasn’t sure if that was because it really was cold or because his whole body was a block of ice.

“I … I thought that … well, both of you wanted to, but not with me, and … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for all this to come out.” She looked up at him, stricken. “Oz, I didn’t want to bring it up, I promise I didn’t!”

“Yeah, I get that. But … do you know how that makes me feel, to know you were—you were in my arms thinking of him?”

Willow stood up, aghast. “It wasn’t like that!”

“Well, not exactly, but it was still his stuff on your mind and not … not me. And I could tell, Willow! I could feel it.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly. And you wonder why I don’t think it’s the right time for us?”

“No. I mean, yes, but … not really.” Willow spread her hands out in front of her in a gesture of helplessness. “It shouldn’t even have bothered me, I know that, but she’s … everything I’m not. She does everything wrong, but she’s always forgiven, for everything! And it doesn’t matter who she uses, or who she hurts. She killed a man, and it’s all ‘let’s give her another chance’, and Xander slept with that!”

“Not trying to make excuses, but … he is a guy. A teenage guy, who was a virgin. I doubt he was thinking too clearly at the time.”

“Not an excuse,” Willow said hotly.

“No, but an explanation.” Oz wasn’t sure how he had ended up defending Xander in this scenario, but he could completely understand how Faith could overwhelm someone that inexperienced.

“So you think it’s okay that she just gets away with it?”

“I think—it’s not really my decision whether it’s okay.” He reached for Willow’s hand. “I think we need to trust Buffy and Giles to handle the situation. They’re more equipped to do it than anyone else. Even the police. Maybe they worry that if they turned her in, she’d say more than she should, or that she’d hurt whoever tried to take her.”

He could see Willow calming down, see the jealousy starting to make way for a more logical thought process. “Maybe,” she said unwillingly.

“You know that if you ever got in trouble, Buffy, and Giles, and Xander, and me—we’d do whatever it took to get you out of it.” He meant it; if Willow needed him, the wolf would spring to life within him with all its savagery. It frightened him, sometimes, to think he might be capable of letting it loose. “Whatever it took,” he repeated, squeezing her hand. She didn’t need the burden of his fear of the darkness, or loss of control.

“I know that. And you, too. I mean, I would do whatever it took to keep you safe, too, Oz.”

He smiled. “I know.” To most, it might have sounded like the empty promise of an ineffectual young girl, but he knew his Willow. Inside her there was power, just waiting to be tapped. When she was ready to look inside herself and find it there, she was going to be a force to be reckoned with. He only hoped he was there to see it, to help her to shape it.


	27. Boring

Walking through the hall after English class, Willow was half thinking about the history test she had that afternoon, and half thinking about what to try next to get into the mayor’s files, when she heard a familiar voice call, “Hey!”

“Oz, hi!” It never got old, seeing him, knowing he was entirely hers.

He came into her outstretched arms, saying, “There’s something about you that’s causing me to hug you. It’s like I have no will of my own.”

She considered making a magic joke, but she was still a little nervous about that kind of thing in the hallways, after the whole Hansel and Gretel affair. Instead, she took his hand, running her fingers up and down his arm. “Where were you yesterday?”

“We got back late, sorta very.”

“We? Who? Where?”

“The band. We had a gig in Monterey Sunday night.”

“You did? How come I didn’t know?” They stopped in front of the doors, and Oz drew her hand up to his chest, holding it gently in his. But even that couldn’t quite keep Willow’s heart from sinking. How far was it from having an away gig he didn’t tell her about to forgetting to talk to her at all?

He blinked in surprise, an extreme reaction for him. “I thought you did.”

“Maybe I would’ve liked to go.”

“Didn’t figure you for missing school.”

It was the downward slide, all right. “You think I’m boring,” she said unhappily.

“I’d call that a radical interpretation of the text.” They were silent for a moment; Willow still felt unhappy about it, wishing he had wanted her to go. “We’re playing tonight, at the Bronze,” he offered. 

She thought about the paper she had due, the time she’d lost while she worked on the mayor’s files, the math problems and the chemistry. “I can’t. I have too much homework.” 

“If you get done early?” He smiled at her before turning to head for his next class. He held on to her fingers until they slid from his grasp. It was a sweet gesture, but she still felt a little like an old shoe.

Willow wandered outside and across the quad, looking for a good place to sit down and study. Then she saw Percy West heading up the stairs, a basketball tucked under his arm, and she remembered that awkward meeting this morning in Principal Snyder’s office about tutoring him. Little as she wanted to, it was her responsibility to get this started. She hurried after him, calling his name.

As she caught up to him, she said, “Hey, listen, I thought we could get together today at lunch and go over your Roosevelt paper. You know, what books you’ll need and stuff?”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“Me tutoring you. You know, your history paper?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Snyder said you were gonna do it.”

“He never said that!” He’d said ‘tutor’. She was sitting right there when he said it.

Percy turned and looked at her for the first time. “What meeting were you at?”

It was easier not to argue, as it so often was. “I’ll get the books you need, just meet me at lunch and—“

“No, no, no. I don’t have any time at lunch, gotta hang out.”

Willow stopped walking, stopped hurrying to keep up with him. “Well …”

Percy stopped, too, and turned around, leaning toward her with a sneer. “What, you got somethin’ better to do? You just type it up, and put my name on it. Oh, and don’t type too good. Dead giveaway.” He turned and walked away without another word, leaving Willow standing there feeling somehow ashamed. Was it really so wrong to get good grades? Was it so wrong to be intelligent? Apparently it must be, if it led people to treat you like your time belonged to them, like they could just tell you what to do and you would do it. Was this what she had to look forward to, being ordered around while the guy who was supposed to care about her forgot to tell her about things?

She sank down on the edge of the fountain, fighting the urge to cry.


	28. Reliable

Willow sat on the edge of the fountain, feeling frustrated and powerless. She didn’t want to write Percy’s stupid paper, or to tutor him in the first place. Why should she have to? And why hadn’t Oz asked her to come to his gig in Monterey? She’d have gone. Or … she’d have thought about going. So she wouldn’t have wanted to miss school. She liked school. Some people liked school! Was there anything wrong with that?

She reached into her bag for the banana she’d packed that morning, and defiantly started to peel it. “I’m eating this now. It’s not lunchtime, and I don’t even care,” she said to no one at all. She didn’t care if anyone heard her talking to herself, either. Let them hear.

Before she could even break the end off the banana, Buffy and Xander were suddenly standing in front of her. She hadn’t even seen them coming. “Hey,” Buffy said.

Xander asked, “Did you remember to tape _Biography_ last Friday?”

Willow nodded, frowning at her very stubborn banana.

Buffy and Xander smiled at each other. Like one of them couldn’t have taped _Biography_? Or, you know, watched it?

“See?” Buffy said. “I told you. Old Reliable.”

That’s what they thought of her? Willow wasn’t sure if she was angry or hurt, but it was definitely one of the two. Maybe both. “Oh, thanks,” she said, making sure her tone dripped with sarcasm. She wouldn't have wanted them to miss it.

“What?” Buffy asked, confused. Willow would have liked to have seen Buffy’s reaction if someone had called her “Old Reliable”. Of course, that would have been hoots of laughter—Buffy was a lot of things, but reliable wasn’t one of them.

“’Old Reliable’? Yeah, great, there’s a … sexy nickname.” ‘Sexy’ hadn’t really been the word she was looking for, but sexy ‘Old Reliable’ sure wasn’t.

Buffy and Xander looked at each other in confusion. “Well, I—I didn’t mean it as a—“

Willow cut her off, not wanting to hear the inevitable babbling excuse. “No. It’s fine. I’m ‘Old Reliable.’” The banana still wouldn’t open, either. Apparently she couldn’t even defy the lunch hour successfully.

“She just means, you know, the geyser,” Xander said, with his ‘look at me, I’m so cute and helpful’ smile. “Like a geyser of fun that goes off at regular intervals.”

“That’s Old Faithful,” Willow told him. 

“Isn’t that the dog that the guy had to shoot—“

Willow was passing through cranky to downright mad pretty fast. “That’s Old Yeller,” she snapped.

“Xander, I beg you not to help me,” Buffy said. “Will, I—I didn’t mean it as a bad thing. I think it’s good to be reliable.”

Willow got up, trying to keep hold of her temper long enough to remember that this was her best friend and she could, in theory, explain to her best friend how she felt. “Well, maybe I don’t want to be reliable all the time? Maybe I’m not just some … doormat person. Homework gal.”

They both stared at her as though this was some kind of foreign concept, which didn’t make Willow feel better in the least.

Xander, with his thoughtful and reasonable face on, said, “I’m thinkin’ nerve strike.”

Willow was highly tempted to hit him. Or to ask Buffy to hit him. But then Buffy looked at him in what appeared to be agreement, and Willow huffed in disgust and turned around to walk away from both of them. She stopped and turned back and said, “Maybe I’ll change my look.” Blonde, maybe. Or … black hair. That would show ‘em. She could look all evil and scary, like—well, not like Faith. She didn’t want to look like Faith. “Or cut class. You don’t know!”

They stared at her, no quips, no puns, no snappy comebacks, no nothing.

She waved the banana at them, stubborn sticky-peeled thing that it was. “And I’m eating this banana, lunchtime be damned.”

Willow strode off. 

Buffy came hurrying after her. “Will, wait! I’m really sorry I—”

“Buff. I’m storming off. It doesn’t really work if you come with me.”

They looked at one another for a moment, then Buffy said, “Oh,” in a small, confused, almost hurt voice, and Willow left her standing there, feeling like a badass. Or just bad, possibly. Either way, for once, Willow wasn’t sure she cared.


	29. Dangerous

By the time she was on her way through the school, Willow no longer felt quite so angry, and she was sad about that. Because when she’d been angry, she hadn’t felt quite so … invisible. Good grades. Always good grades. Did no one find her interesting for anything other than that?

Then, behind her, someone called her name. She turned and saw that new girl, Anya. Last time she’d seen her, Anya had been hanging around with Cordelia. Willow braced herself for the inevitable insults. “Uh … hi.”

“Anya. I’m … sort of new here. Um, I know Cordelia?” She left it as something of a question, and Willow tried to think of something nice to say. Because that was what she did, get good grades and say nice things about people.

“Oh. Fun,” she managed at last. 

From Anya’s blank face, it was clear that her voice hadn’t conveyed a sense of fun. Fortunately, Anya moved quickly on from the topic of Cordelia. “Yeah. Um, listen … I have this little project I’m working on, and I heard you were the person to ask if—“

“Yeah, that’s me,” Willow said, sighing. “Reliable dog geyser person. What do you need?” She hoped the question conveyed a sense of not actually wanting to know.

“Oh, it’s nothing big, just a little … spell I’m working on.” 

A spell? Well, that put a new wheel on the wagon. “A spell?” Willow moved a couple of steps down toward Anya. “Oh! I like the black arts.”

Dropping her voice a little, Anya explained, “I just need a secondary to create a temporal fold. I heard you were a pretty powerful wicca, so …” She shrugged, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging.

“You heard right, mister!” Willow told her enthusiastically. Such a relief to be needed for her skills in magic, for once, something she had actually worked at. “I’m always ready to work some dark mojo. So, tell me—is it dangerous?” she asked, hoping it would be. She could use a little danger after her day worth of drudgery.

“Oh, no,” Anya responded immediately, and Willow tried to hold back her disappointment. She didn’t have much luck.

“Well … can we pretend it is?” she asked.

Anya frowned. “I suppose.”

They separated long enough to grab some supplies from their lockers. Anya had a free period, and Willow was more than happy to skip math for the sake of magic. She’d already finished the textbook, anyway. 

Anya brought a plate with the picture of a necklace drawn on it, placing it down in the middle of an empty classroom. As they arranged the rest of the supplies, she explained, “The necklace was a family heirloom, passed down for generations. It was stolen from my mom’s apartment.”

“How does the spell work?”

Kneeling down by the plate, Anya explained, “Well, we both call on Arashon, the Endless One, offer up the standard supplication, and there’s a teensy temporal fold. We hope. Um … then I pour the sacred sand on the representation of the necklace, and Arashon brings it forth from the time and place it was lost.”

“Cool.” Willow could imagine so many uses for this spell, if it went well, and it was so nice to meet someone else who understood magic. Well, besides Giles, but he went out of his way to avoid encouraging Willow to take up mystical studies. She knew he was trying to protect her—and she wished he wouldn’t.

“Are we ready?”

Willow nodded. “I think so.”

Anya stretched out her right hand, palm up, above the plate, and began the spell. “Arashon kashala me-an.”

Placing her left hand, also palm up, so that the fingertips brushed Anya’s, Willow continued, “Duprecht dotanila nu Arashon.”

“Child to the mother,” Anya said, picking up the bottle of sacred sand with her left hand.

Willow reached for the bottle with her right. “The river to the sea.”

“Arashon, hear my prayer.” Visibly excited by how well the spell was going, Anya closed her eyes in supplication.

Closing her eyes as well, Willow waited. It only took a few moments, and then a bright light was shining on her face, a wind swirling around them. Her eyes opened, but instead of the classroom she was seeing visions. A vision of Giles, in his apartment, being shoved back against the wall by … a demon? A flash of two people who looked like herself and Xander, in a lot of leather. A flash of the necklace, and then Buffy staking a vampire … who looked like Xander? That couldn’t be right. Willow again, in the leather outfit, and Buffy walking away from the dusting vamp. A green flash as something was smashed; Buffy striking the girl who looked like Willow. Then the images were moving too fast for Willow to focus on. She thought she saw the Master, long since ground to dust, and Oz, looking panicked. 

The sand poured out of the bottle through their hands.

Another vision, people pouring out of a cage, herself fighting them, Oz running to her—

And then they were gone, and so was the wind and the light and the sand. Willow sat stunned, unable to understand what she had seen. A temporal fold? That looked like … the future? The past? Something that could have happened but didn’t? Why had she been in leather? Why had it seemed like Xander was a vampire? Was Xander going to be killed, was that what she had seen?

“That was—w-what was that?” she asked Anya, but the other girl wasn’t listening. She was searching for her necklace, muttering to herself.

“It’s not here!” she shouted in frustration.

Willow got up, stepping away from the scene of the spell. “Okay,” she said, “that’s a little blacker than I like my arts.”

“Oh, don’t be such a wimp,” Anya said in exasperation.

“That-that-that wasn’t just some temporal fold, that was … some weird hell place. I don’t think you’re telling me everything.”

Anya snapped, “I swear, I am just trying to find my necklace.”

“Well, did you try looking inside the sofa in hell?”

“Look, we’ll just … try it again,” Anya said hopefully, forcing a smile.

Willow wasn’t having any. “No! I think emphatically not.”

“I can’t do it by myself!”

“That’s a relief.” Willow began gathering her things. Maybe homework wasn’t such a bad thing, she thought. Better than … whatever it was she had just seen, which she would very much like to forget. “I’m outta here.”

“Fine! Go. Idiot child,” Anya muttered.

Willow bent to retrieve her chicken feet, shaking them in Anya’s face. “I believe these chicken feet are mine.” Anya glared at her, and Willow said, “Look, magic is dangerous, Anya, it’s not to be toyed with. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have someone else’s homework to do.”

She turned and left the room, suddenly not so unhappy to be valued for her more prosaic skills.


	30. Weird

Willow was feeling guilty as she came into the library, sorry about how she had stormed off from her friends earlier. It hadn’t been their fault that she felt … inadequate. Boring. Dull. And after that thing with Anya, she kind of wished she felt boring and dull again. That had been a bit more magical than Willow felt she was entirely ready for. 

It didn’t help that Xander and Buffy and Giles were all sitting glumly on the steps, looking as though the end of the world was nigh, when she walked in with her cheery, “What’s goin’ on?”

They all turned to look at her, shocked, and she said, “Geez, who died?” flippantly, before it occurred to her that someone must have. “Oh, God, who died?”

Xander scrambled up off the steps, rushing toward her with a cross held out in front of him. “Back! Back, demon!”

Willow looked at the cross, and looked at Xander, trying to figure out what was going on.

He looked at her, and then at the cross, shaking it as if to make it work better, and shoved it at her face again.

Behind him, Buffy got up and came toward her, looking at Willow as if she was seeing her for the first time. “Willow, you’re alive,” she said in a tone of wonder and disbelief.

“Aren’t I usually?”

They were still all staring at her, and then Buffy rushed her, throwing her arms around her and holding on tight. Then Xander followed suit, both of them wrapping themselves around her as if they’d never let her go.

Willow held on to them, glad that they cared so much, even if she was still confused. “I love you guys, too.” But they didn’t let go, wrapping themselves more and more tightly around her until it was starting to get hard to breathe. “Oxygen becoming an issue,” she said at last, and they let go. They both continued to stare at her as though they had never expected to see her again, and Willow looked at the sanest member of the group for some clarification. “Giles, what’s going on with these—“ And then Giles was hugging her, too, which was weird. And a little scary. And kind of reminded her of the crush she used to have on him and how she used to wish he would hug her, which was also weird and a little scary.

He must have found it so, as well, because he let her go as abruptly as he had embraced her, stepping back and stammering out his apologies.

Buffy put her hand on Willow’s shoulder, still staring. Willow was beginning to find it all really creepy. “It’s … really nice that you guys missed me,” she said. “Say, you all didn’t happen to do a bunch of drugs, did ya?” It was the best explanation she could come up with.

Xander finally found his words. “Will, we saw you, at the Bronze. A vampire.”

“I’m not a vampire!”

“You are,” Buffy said. “I mean … you were …” She frowned. They both turned to look at the man who usually had the answers. “Giles, planning on jumping in with an explanation anytime soon?”

Giles stammered a bit more, clearly as lost as the rest of them. Eventually he managed to offer, “Something very strange is happening.”

Xander grinned. “Can you believe the Watchers’ Council let this guy go?”

“Seriously, that’s all you have?” Buffy asked Giles.

“Without having seen this vampire version of Willow myself, it’s hard to say. Possibly you and Xander were under some kind of spell, or a demon was wearing a glamour of Willow …”

“Willow in leather,” Xander muttered.

“Leather? I don’t wear leather.”

Buffy shrugged. “You looked pretty good in it. Not … Willow-y, but good.”

Willow considered that. She liked looking Willow-y, but … maybe it was time for a change.

“We just thought—you know, you kind of were mad earlier and said you wanted a change, and—“

“Boy, was it,” Xander put in.

Willow shook her head. “That wasn’t me. You guys know that, right?” she asked, because they were still looking at her funny.

“I know …” Buffy frowned. “Giles, research? Books? Anything?”

He shrugged, and they all stood there looking at one another. Willow kind of wanted to see this vamp version of her now … but she also kind of didn’t.


	31. Nightmare

No matter how many out of town gigs they got, it was always good to be playing the Bronze. Familiar, filled with hometown fans who knew what to expect from Dingoes Ate My Baby, and there was the chance Willow would be there. Something in Oz was electrified when he knew she was watching, as though he performed only for her.

Which he never had, come to think of it. He should do that sometime. She’d like that, he thought, his mind on that while his fingers were busy setting up the amps.

“Man, we need a roadie,” Dylan said, growing impatient waiting for Oz to finish. “Other bands have roadies.”

“Well, other bands know more than three chords. Your professional bands can play up to six, sometimes seven completely different cords.” 

Dylan thought about that for a moment, then shook his head. “That’s just, like, fruity jazz bands.”

Oz turned when someone called his name, and saw Angel emerging from the darkness behind the stage. 

“Hey, man,” he said. “You lookin’ for Buffy?”

“As always.” Angel rolled his eyes in acknowledgement of Buffy’s ongoing elusiveness.

“Well, no sightings as of yet, but I think she said she’d show.” Oz had, in fact, made a point of asking her, hoping if Buffy showed Willow would be brought along in her orbit. Buffy had referenced some kind of spat she and Willow and Xander had had earlier in the courtyard, and he was a little worried that he hadn’t had a message from Willow. Usually if she was upset, she’d talk to him.

Before Angel could respond to him, the door opened and entirely the wrong sort of vampires walked in—full vamp face on, and ready to party. Another night in Sunnydale …

People scattered, shrieking, as the vamps made their way through the room. Oz and Angel both stood watching, waiting to see what they were dealing with before they decided what to do. Then a vamp collided with a kid, shoved him, and sent him crashing through a table on the other side of the room. These guys were not in a good mood, it appeared.

“Well, that doesn’t look good,” Oz muttered.

“Everybody shut up!” shouted one of the vamps. “All right,” he said when everyone had done so. “Nobody cause any trouble, or try to leave, and nobody gets hurt.”

“Why don’t I believe him?” Angel said softly.

“Well, he lacks credibility. Can you get out of here?”

“Skylight in the roof. I can make it.”

“Think we need some backup.”

“Think I’m needed here,” Angel responded.

Oz did a quick count. “Ten to one. Could get pointless.” He wished he could count himself in; while mostly he was happy that wolf and self existed in such separate planes, on occasions like this he regretted that his only use to the team as a fighter was when he had lost his own personality so completely.

The vamps had been waiting for someone, it seemed, because they moved out of the way in hushed deference as a woman walked into the room. A woman in a tight leather outfit. A woman with pale skin and red hair …

Oz’s blood froze in his veins. That was Willow. His Willow. Or not at all his Willow, not if she was storming the Bronze with a team of vamps. 

His worst nightmare come true: He had lost her.

And she was so completely Willow. The tilt of her head, the thoughtful look, the way she studied everything as she walked. But she had a confidence his Willow lacked, a sureness of her power and her sexuality. She was beautiful, Oz had to admit. Sexy and dangerous and tempting. But she wasn’t his Willow. That much was clear when her eyes swept over him with no acknowledgement, no recognition.

She planted her feet in the center of the room. “Look. Everyone’s all afraid. It’s just like old times.”

There was no longer any question of Angel staying to take on the entire team of vamps. They needed the big guns.

“Get Buffy,” Oz said. “Do it now.”


	32. Reality

Angel left without another word; Oz knew he would get to Buffy and return to the Bronze as soon as he could. But was there a way of saving Willow? Could they do a spell and gain her back her soul? Oz had to hope they could, because otherwise he thought his heart might just stop beating, frozen to ice crystals.

Behind him, Dylan whispered, “Dude, check out your girlfriend!”

Oz was. He was watching her for any sign that the Willow he loved was still in there somewhere. She approached a table where a girl was sitting alone. A frightened girl who nevertheless had the sense to stay still and quiet. Willow, the vampire Willow, reached out and took the girl’s hand, leading her into the center of the deserted dance floor. Looking around the room, she said, “If you’re all good boys and girls, we’ll make you young and strong forever and ever. We’ll have fun.” Her hands were moving over the girl's head and neck now, those strong undead arms holding the girl imprisoned—not that she was likely to run, too frightened even to respond as Willow drew her more tightly against herself. She tipped the girl’s head to the side and licked her neck, finishing, “If you’re not—“ Then her face changed, becoming the hideous ridged countenance of the vampire, and she sank her teeth into the girl’s neck.

He couldn’t stand still and watch her do this, not if there was any vestige of his Willow left inside her. Oz ran off the stage onto the floor, only to be caught and held by one of her henchmen before he could reach her. He watched, horrified, as she removed her teeth from the girl, dropping the limp, still body to the floor, and with even more horror as her face shifted back to Willow’s smooth, beautiful skin.

She looked around, and in such a prosaically Willow voice that Oz wanted to weep, said, “Questions? Comments?”

“Willow,” he said urgently, needing to reach her. “You don’t want to do this.”

Turning her head in his direction, she surveyed him with only moderate interest, and no recognition, and Oz felt a deep despair. Had he lost her for good? When Angel had been evil, he had still known Buffy … she had been all he could think about, soul or no soul. But Willow didn’t seem to know him at all. Responding to his comment, she said, “I don’t? But I’m so good at it.”

Her henchmen let him go and he walked toward her, forgetting to be afraid. Underneath this all, she was Willow. He couldn’t believe, even after what he had seen, that she could hurt him. “Who did this to you?”

She ignored the question, studying his face, frowning. “I know you. You’re a White Hat. How come you’re talking to me like we’re friends?”

Oz was lost. Who or what were White Hats? How could Willow have lost herself so thoroughly, so fast? In everything he had learned to understand about vampires, this didn’t make sense.

Then, behind Willow, another voice spoke. That girl Anya was standing in the middle of the room, and she said, “Because he thinks you’re someone else. He thinks you’re the Willow that belongs in this reality.”

This reality? Hope surged in him again. If this was the wrong Willow, then his Willow was still out there somewhere, still alive—or she could be.

The vampire Willow turned toward Anya. “Another me?” she asked softly. 

“You know this isn’t your world, right? I mean, you know you don’t belong here,” Anya said.

“No,” said Willow sadly. “This is a dumb world. In my world, there are people in chains and you can ride them like ponies.” 

“You want to get back there.” 

“Yes.”

Anya nodded. “So do I.”

“How?” Willow demanded.

“You need to find the other Willow. The Willow of this reality.”

“No!” Oz said, wishing he hadn’t spoken when both of them turned to him with equal expressions of annoyance. Getting himself killed wasn’t going to help Willow. 

“Kill him,” the vampire Willow said to her henchman.

“Wait,” Anya said. “You don’t want to do that. He’s important to the Willow of this reality; you might need him as leverage.”

Vampire Willow thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. “Fine. We’ll let him live. For now.” She reached out and ran a finger across his jaw. Oz was torn between attraction to Willow, in whatever form she came in, and disgust at being touched by this creature that wasn’t right, and he shuddered. The vampire smiled, licking the tip of her finger in a way his Willow would never do. “Oh, you’re delightful. The things I could do to you. Does she do things to you?” she asked him softly.

He refused to answer.

She laughed. “She doesn’t, does she? I think I’ll go find her and teach her a little bit about how to have fun. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, White Hat?”

Oz wanted to beg her not to hurt Willow, but nothing he said would sway this creature, and she would do what she liked. He only hoped that the real Willow was with Buffy, and Buffy would protect her from … herself.

The henchman held him there as the vampire version of the girl he loved left the Bronze.


	33. Wigging

No one in the library had the faintest idea what to do about a vampire who looked like Willow walking around Sunnydale. Not having seen her, Willow could only imagine what this vampire must look like, and it bothered her to imagine it. “This is creepy,” she said at last. “I don’t like the thought that there’s a vampire out there that looks like me.”

“Not looks like,” Xander corrected her, giving a little shudder. “Is.”

Buffy added, “It was exactly you, Will, every detail. Except for your not being a dominatrix.” She paused, frowning, then said, “As far as we know.”

“Oh, right,” Willow scoffed. “Me and Oz play Mistress of Pain every night.” She rolled her eyes.

Giles frowned, and both Buffy and Xander looked down at their shoes to avoid meeting Willow’s eyes.

“Did anyone else just go to a scary visual place?” Xander asked. 

“Oh, yeah,” Buffy agreed, and Giles gestured with his glasses in assent.

Willow blushed ... but she couldn't help imagining it, just a little.

The doors to the library opened just then, and they all jumped. Willow had a moment’s hope that it would be Oz—she could only imagine what he would go through if he met a vampire version of her, if he thought that _was_ her.

She was disappointed to see it was only Angel, looking unusually agitated. He rushed straight into the room, his eyes on Buffy. “Buffy, I … Something’s happened that …”

Everyone stared at him while he tried to get his thoughts together.

At last, he managed. “Willow’s dead.”

Xander and Buffy nodded. Willow pushed herself off the wall in the corner that she had been leaning against, intruding herself into Angel’s field of vision.

“Hey, Willow,” he said automatically. He looked back at Buffy and Xander, who raised their eyebrows at him expectantly, and then his head snapped around and he stared at Willow. “Wait a second.”

“We’re right there with you, buddy,” Xander told him.

“We saw her, too. At the Bronze,” Buffy explained.

Angel looked at Willow again, clearly trying to process. She gave him a little wave to indicate that she really was still alive and standing there in front of him.

“Okay,” he muttered. He looked back at Buffy. “She’s there now with a cadre of vampires, looking to party.”

Buffy got immediately into motion. “We can figure out who she is after we stop the feeding frenzy.”

“Oz!” Willow said. “Is Oz there? Did she … hurt him?”

Angel shook his head. “He’s pretty freaked out, though. I could tell.”

“If you could tell, he must be wigging hard,” Buffy said. She looked at Willow. “Sorry, Will.”

“No, let’s just get there.” Willow couldn’t take the idea that Oz thought she was dead … or, even worse, that someone who looked like her might hurt him. “Hurry!”

They did, grabbing coats and supplies and bursting through the doors of the library.

“How many of them were there?” Buffy asked Angel.

“Eight or ten.”

Over her shoulder, Buffy asked Giles, “Should we call Faith?”

“No! I don’t want her in combat yet. Not around civilians.”

“Hear, hear,” Xander agreed.

A thought struck Willlow. This vampire, according to everyone who had seen her, was _her_. Willow. Could they really kill her … or some alternate version of her? Could she stand there and watch her own self die? She stopped walking. “Guys?” They all stopped and turned to look at her. “What are we gonna do with me? The … other me?”

Buffy came to stand in front of her. It was clear Buffy had been in “kill-vampire” mode and hadn’t thought about who the vampire she was about to kill really might be. “I don’t know, Will,” she said. “I mean … we just have to stop them.”

“I—I get that. I just kind of wanted to know …” She thought of some magical supplies she had in her bag in the library; some of them might be useful in halting the vampire, or putting her in some kind of stasis. She’d work it out on the way to the Bronze. “Go,” she told the others. “I’ll catch up.”


	34. Herself

Willow reached across the desk for her bag—and then suddenly a hand was slapped across her mouth, and a cold, strong hand was digging into her arm. An eerily familiar voice said into her ear, “Alone at last.”

She should probably have been afraid of this vampire who looked like her, but mostly, she was curious. Apparently the vampire was, too, because she let go of Willow, turning her around and holding her there with a steely grip. Willow stared at her wide-eyed—was that how she looked to people? Powerful, and tall, and … leathery?

The vampire seemed less impressed by what she saw. “Well, look at me,” she said, surveying Willow’s pink sweater. “I’m all fuzzy.”

“What do I want with you?” Willow asked. That didn’t sound right. She shook her head, trying to clear it.

“Your little school friend Anya said that you’re the one that brought me here. She said that you could get me back to my world.” 

“Oh,” Willow said, remembering that failed “teensy temporal fold.” And then, as the pieces fell more firmly into place and she realized what must have happened, “Oh! Oops.”

The vampire had looked sad, and a little lost, while making her request, but now she brightened, continuing to study Willow. “But I don’t know,” she said, smiling. “I kind of like the idea of the two of us …” She turned Willow around, saying, “We could be quite the team—if you came around to my way of thinking.”

Willow found this all rather icky. She was torn between fear of the vampire and annoyance at … herself—and a little bit of curiosity at how this version of her became what she was. Maybe a little more time together could help with her struggle with her identity as everyone’s doormat. She decided to get the ground rules straight, at least. “Would that mean we’d have to … snuggle?”

“What do you say?” the vampire purred. She pulled Willow’s hair back and licked her neck. “Want to be bad?”

“This just can’t get more disturbing,” Willow said. She was equally disturbed by herself—why wasn’t she running, screaming? And then the vampire squeezed her bottom, and that was the last straw. Willow pulled out of the vampire’s … embrace, and backed away. “Ack! No more,” she demanded. “You’re really starting to freak me out.”

She moved toward the library doors, but the vampire got in her way, the movement almost a dance. There was an assurance in the vampire; she knew what she was capable of. She knew what Willow was capable of. Willow desperately wished in that moment to be a more powerful witch—anything to counter this sinuous, effortlessly evil self in front of her.

For the moment, lacking that power, she reached for the next best thing—a wooden cross—and held it up before the vampire’s face. 

With a snarl of rage, the vampire knocked the cross out of Willow’s hand. Willow stood stunned, just watching … herself. She hadn’t known she had that much anger in her. Then the vampire lifted her bodily and threw her over Giles’ desk. Willow landed against a file cabinet, her head banging against the metal. She groaned in pain.

“If you don’t want to play, guess I can’t force you,” the vampire said, calm again now, and sounding almost sad.

As the vampire came around through the door into Giles’ office, Willow saw the trank gun they kept for Oz under the desk, and she reached for it.

The vampire was in front of her now, a little smile on her face as she said, “Oh, wait. I can.”

Willow sat back, glad for once that she had a werewolf boyfriend she seemed to keep having to shoot with tranquilizers, as the familiar mechanism worked under her hands. She shot the vampire full in the chest.

Looking down at herself, the tranquilizers already taking effect, the vampire said, “Bitch!” And then she passed out. 

Willow lay there panting, looking at herself. She felt like she ought to take a moment to consider herself, to imagine what the vampire’s life must be like, to … but she was too freaked out right now to contemplate the situation. She wanted things back to normal.

And for normal, she needed Buffy, and Giles. Leaving the vampire to sleep it off, she hurried to go after them and bring them back to the library.


	35. Leather

“Buffy! Giles! She’s here!” Willow called, catching them just as they were pushing through the doors of the school.

“Who’s here?” Buffy’s eyes widened. “You—vamp you—er, the vampire?”

“Yes! And she’s freaky. I shot her with a trank dart, so she’s out, but I don’t know how long it’ll last.”

Buffy had questions about how that had happened, Willow could see, but she kept them to herself, at least for now, and they hurried back to the library, where they stood looking down at the vampire’s peaceful face. Willow’s own face, which got more and more disturbing the longer she looked at it.

“Guys. Guys! Let’s … I don’t know, let’s put her in the cage for now.”

They all kept staring for a few more minutes until finally Buffy shook herself a little. “Right. Let’s do that.” 

Xander and Angel each grabbed an arm and between them they dragged the vamp into the cage. Giles watched, still fascinated, looking back and forth between Willow and the vampire. “It’s extraordinary,” he said several times.

“It’s horrible!” Willow corrected. “That’s me as a vampire? I’m so evil and—skanky.” Remembering hands in the wrong places, she turned to Buffy and muttered, “And I think I’m kinda gay.”

“Well, just remember, a vampire’s personality has nothing to do with the person that it was.”

Angel turned to them. “Well, actually—“ Willow caught his eye, hoping he wasn’t going to opt for honesty over comfort at this juncture, and he looked flustered, glancing away, and eventually ended with, “That’s a good point.”

“So, uh, what do we do now?” Xander asked.

“We still have to get to the Bronze.” 

“Even if they’re supposed to wait for her, they may start feeding,” Angel agreed. “Vampires, not notoriously reliable.”

“So we charge in? Much in the style of John Wayne?” Xander smiled, clearly picturing himself in the lead role.

Giles hesitated. “High casualty risk. But I haven’t any other plan, though.”

Buffy raised a hand, looking almost apologetically at Willow. “I have a really bad idea.”

“What?”

“Well … we know who they would listen to.”

Xander frowned. “She’s kind of asleep right now, and sounds like she wouldn’t be too helpful if she was awake.”

“She wouldn’t be … but … um … we have someone else who looks just like her.”

“Wait, whoa, hold on there!” Willow said. “You want me to wear _that_?” She looked at the vampire’s tight leather outfit. Would that even fit her? Maybe vampires were thinner than humans. And … could she walk in those high-heeled boots? “And you want me to go tell a bunch of vampires what to do?”

Giles was looking at her speculatively, as though he found it all a delightful academic conundrum. “It would be worth a try.”

“And if they change me into a vampire for real?”

“We’ll be right outside, Will,” Buffy assured her. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

It was on the tip of Willow’s tongue to point at the vampire and remind Buffy that in that universe, she had let something happen to her … but then, Buffy had probably thought of that, too, and who was to know if in the other Willow’s world, Buffy had never been born, or had died before Willow was turned into a vampire? And none of that mattered right now, because right now, Willow had to put on some really weird leather stuff and go pretend to boss some vampires around. She sighed. “All right. I’ll do it.”

Giles unlocked the cage and Willow stepped in. No one moved, and she frowned at them all. “A little privacy, please?”

“Right. Of course.” Giles moved away from the cage and Angel hurried after him, Xander following more slowly. They went into Giles’s office and closed the door.

Buffy hesitated. “I don’t like to leave you alone with her.”

“I don’t like to be alone with her. You can stay. Please.”

“Good. Because I really don’t think I could have left you.”

Willow smiled, turning to the vampire and trying to figure out how the top came undone, glad to have Buffy at her back. 

It was strange changing clothes in the middle of the library, strange and a little chilly. Willow was glad she’d asked Buffy to stay, because it was harder to get the vampire’s clothes off her body and Willow’s back on it than she had imagined, since she was out so cold she was dead weight, literally, and it was equally hard to pull those tight leather pants up.

“Damn, Will,” Buffy said. “You should see the way your butt looks in—“ She stopped as Willow glared at her. “Right. You saw. Sorry.”

Just what she needed, Willow thought grumpily, to pale in comparison with her own self.

“Hey.” Buffy turned her around so they were facing each other. “You know we all love you just the way you are, right? When we thought you were—gone …” She shuddered. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Willow, and not because you’re reliable. Because you’re you—you make us laugh and you tell us when we’re being idiots and you help us with our homework and you make a mean batch of fudge and … you’re the best best friend I could ever ask for.”

Touched, Willow reached to hug her friend, feeling better than she had all day, despite the tight pants and the restrictive corset and the entirely too high heels. She was willing to bet vampire Willow didn’t have any friends as good as this.


	36. Doppelganger

Held there in the Bronze, while the vampire who looked like the woman he loved was out there somewhere hunting her doppelganger, Oz was growing increasingly frustrated. He could feel the wolf inside him in a way that usually happened only near the full moon, and he wondered if it would come out. Could it come out, in a situation where he felt this much fear and the fury brought on by helplessness? Only his certainty that Buffy loved Willow as much as he did and that she would go to any lengths to protect her allowed him to keep his cool.

Dylan, fortunately, was still cowering behind the amps, so Oz didn’t have to deal with his commentary on the apparent change in Willow. Or with his own feelings about how incredibly beautiful she had been as a vampire, strong and powerful and sure of herself. He could see the difference, though, and what he wanted more than anything was to get out of here and hold _his_ Willow in his arms and show her how strong and powerful and sure of herself she could be.

As the clock ticked, that moment seemed further and further away. The vamps keeping the Bronze hostage were patient, though, waiting for their boss, and for that he was grateful.

At last a knock sounded on the door, and one of the vamps went to open it. The vampire Willow stood there … only she looked different. Somehow shorter, less … dangerous. When she lifted a hand and did a little wave and said, “Hi! I’m back,” Oz knew. This was his Willow. Somehow they had prevailed, and his Willow had come back to save them all. He felt a deep pride in her, knowing that this charade couldn’t be easy for her, but she was doing it anyway.

She walked in, slowly, getting her bearings, and the lead vamp and the girl Anya, who seemed to know a lot more about what was going on than she should, approached her.

“Did you find the girl?” the vamp asked.

Willow hesitated, trying to get the speech patterns right, Oz guessed. Then she said, “Yup, I did.”

When she left it at that, Anya asked, “Where is she?”

“I killed her,” Willow said, as though that was obvious. Anya looked at her incredulously, and Willow continued, “And sucked her blood, as we vampires do.” Everyone was silent, staring at her. She turned to the vampire behind her, the one who had opened the door, and said something quietly to him that Oz didn’t hear. He turned and left, and Oz realized that Buffy and the others must be waiting outside, ready to take the vamps out one by one.

As the door closed behind him, Anya advanced on Willow. “How could you kill her? She was our best shot at getting your world back.”

There was more between Willow and Anya than Oz knew, it seemed, because there was a real edge in Willow’s voice as she pushed past the other girl, saying, “I don’t like that you dare question me. Maybe I’ll have my minions take you out back and kill you horribly.” She turned her head slightly, meeting Oz’s eyes, and gave him a little smile and a wave.

The combination—his sweet adorable Willow and her bravery and that really sexy outfit—was an assault to his senses that had him wanting to get her alone and show her things she had never felt before. He settled for a faint smile at her, one he hoped only she would recognize as a smile, and a promise to himself that he was going to kiss her a lot as soon as this was over.

“Vampires,” muttered Anya. “Always thinking with your teeth.”

“She bothered me,” Willow said. “She’s so weak and accommodating. She’s always letting people walk all over her and … and then she gets cranky with her friends for no reason.”

Oz heard the subtext there, the unhappiness with herself, and added a long hug and maybe a massage to the list of things he wanted to do with her. Whatever had her so angry with herself, he wanted to help fix it, as soon as he possibly could.

“I just couldn’t let her live,” Willow finished. Turning to another vamp, she said, “You know, he’s been gone for a while. Why don’t you go check on him?”

Obediently, the vamp headed for the door. Anya, frowning, watched him go. The lead vamp, meanwhile, seemed ready to get down to business. “Well, boss, since that plan is out, why don’t we get with the killing?”

Willow wasn’t sure what to do with that. Oz tensed, ready to rush the vamp if he tried something. Then she said, “I don’t know if I feel like killing anymore. I’m so bored.” Wandering past a table where a girl sat, too frightened to move, Willow absently ran her hand through the girl’s hair, and then got it tangled. Oz could see her wanting to apologize as she unwound the girl’s hair from her fingers, and he held back his smile, but only barely. His Willow, such an extraordinary human. 

“It—it would be like shooting fish in a barrel,” Willow continued. “Where’s the fun?”

“With all due respect, boss,” said the lead vamp, “the fun would be the eating.”

“Maybe we should let everyone go and give them a thirty-second head start,” Willow suggested.

Anya rolled her eyes. “Wait a minute.” 

Oz could tell the light had dawned on her, and apparently so could Willow, because she hastily cut Anya off. “No! I like my plan.”

“Nice try,” Anya said.

“Okay, let’s get to the killing. Why don’t we start with her?” Willow pointed at Anya, who pointed right back. 

“Why don’t we start with you? If she’s a vampire, then I’m the Creature from the Black Lagoon.” Anya sighed. “I’m just so tired of being around human beings and all their baggage, I don’t care if I ever get my powers back. I think he should eat you.”

As Willow backed up toward him, Oz moved forward. If anything was going to go down, he was going to put himself between Willow and the vamp. “This girl,” Willow said, “has a history of mental problems, dating back to early childhood. I’m a blood-sucking fiend! Look at my outfit.”

Unconvinced, the lead vamp shook his head. “A human. I should have smelled it right away.”

“A human? Oh, yeah? Could a human do this?” Willow took a deep breath and screamed at the top of her lungs.

Anya and the vamp looked at each other, confused. “Sure, yeah, humans do that.”

And then the door burst open and Buffy was inside, with Angel right behind her. They engaged the vamps while Giles and Xander started getting the people out. Anya looked around her in confusion before locking eyes on Willow. She opened her mouth, smiled, clearly trying for some kind of reconciliation or apology, something to get her back on what looked like it would be the winning side, but Willow wasn’t having any. She slugged Anya in her best best-friend-of-a-Slayer style—and then shook her hand, shrieking, “Ow, ow, happy, but—ow!”

Oz grabbed her other hand and pulled her onto the stage, away from the fighting, glad to be touching her again, sure of her realness and her aliveness.

Dylan was trying, and failing, to climb up toward the skylight, while the rest of the Bronze was emptying out, Buffy and Angel in action with the remaining vamps. Oz pulled Willow toward the back door, only to stop when he saw another Willow, this one in her cute fuzzy pink sweater and full, disturbing, vamp face, coming toward them. She grabbed Oz and shoved him away. He crashed into Dylan, both of them falling, while the vamp Willow caught the real Willow, his Willow.

“No more snuggles?” Willow asked, and the vamp backhanded her across the face.

Before Oz could get to his feet again, vamp Willow was on his Willow, bearing down toward her neck. He wasn’t going to be able to get to her in time, and Buffy and Angel both seemed to be busy. But Buffy heard Willow cry out and made her way across the room. She was poised to stake the vamp when Willow shouted, “Buffy, no!” So Buffy pulled her strike and instead grabbed the vamp by the arm, holding her there.

Getting to her feet, Willow said breathlessly, “Nice reflexes.”

Buffy smiled. “Well, I work out.”

The vampire Willow grumbled, “This world’s no fun,” and the real Willow nodded. “You noticed that, too?”

Oz reached his Willow at last and pulled her against him, holding her tightly, not caring who saw. Just the feel of her there in his arms, the smell of her hair—and the leather, although that smelled a bit of blood, which was a disturbing note and called to the wolf inside him more than he would have liked—was enough. For now.


	37. Willows

They all went to the factory, where the vampire version of Willow had come into this world.

With Anya’s extremely reluctant help, Giles created a circle to reopen the portal and send vampire Willow back, and with Buffy’s aggressively silent oversight, the two Willows changed clothes back again.

Vamp Willow looked as though she was going to say a few things, maybe even offer some advice on being sexier, and the real world’s Willow wondered if maybe she should listen—maybe Oz had liked her better in that outfit than her albeit much comfier and better-able-to-breathe-in fuzzy sweater.

But the vampire thought better of it. Something had gone out of her, it seemed, in the Bronze, and Willow worried about what would happen to her when she went back to her world.

She put her hand out, holding on to vamp Willow’s arm. “You’re gonna be okay, right?”

“Oh, sure. Back where everything’s normal again.” The vampire rolled her eyes. “No pesky Slayers to ruin my fun.”

“Yeah, we’re good like that.” Buffy lifted her crossbow menacingly. “In your world, no Slayers?”

“Not here.”

“Huh.”

The Willows stepped out from behind the screening wall where they had changed, watching as Giles continued making the circle, with Anya and Oz both helping. Oz didn’t look up, and Willow wondered if he was off-put by having seen her as a vampire. Would he ever be able to look at her the same again? Part of her thought she should be more curious about the circle, but for the moment, she was off magic, too—magic and dabbling in the dark arts and being too eager to jump into something she knew nothing about had gotten them here. Maybe she needed to take a break.

While she was thinking it, Xander stepped up to the vampire version of her. “So, um, in your reality, I’m like this badass vampire, huh?” Vampire Willow turned her head to glare at him. With typical Xander obliviousness he laughed. “People afraid of me?” She rolled her eyes, and he grinned. “Oh, yeah. I’m bad.” 

Oz got up from the circle, crossing the room without looking at Willow. She tried not to think anything of it.

Behind her, Buffy said, “I’m not sure about releasing this thing into the wild, Will. It is a demon.”

“I just can’t kill her.”

“No. Me, neither,” Buffy admitted.

“I mean … I know she’s not me—we have a big nothing in common—but … still.”

“There but for the grace of getting bit.”

“We send her back to her world, then, she stands a chance,” Willow said. “It’s the way it should be, anyway.” The vampire was only here because she had been trying to prove something about herself. Guess she had learned the lesson she’d been looking for.

“We’re about ready here,” Giles said from the floor. He looked up at Willow, nodding a little, and she moved over to stand next to her doppelganger. From behind her, she could hear his voice, his serious, dangerous voice. “Don’t you try any tricks now, dear.”

Willow glanced over her shoulder and realized he was talking to Anya.

“No tricks,” she said. “When I get my powers back, you will all grovel before me.”

Both Willows rolled their eyes at that one. 

Giles stammered through instructions for them both to come finish off the circle, and Willow turned back to her vampire self. “Good luck. Try not to kill people.” Then, impulsively, she stepped forward and hugged herself.

Vampire Willow stood there unresponsive for a moment, then she squeezed Willow’s butt.

Willow jumped back. “Hands! Hands!” And vampire Willow grinned at her. It was familiar, and disturbing … and disturbingly familiar.

They knelt, and Giles began his incantations, and then … vampire Willow was gone, and there was only Willow Willow, plain as vanilla.

Buffy put a hand on her shoulder. “You all right?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m glad you’re you, Will.” And with a parting pat, Buffy left with Angel. Giles left, too, sternly lecturing Anya as he went. Xander hung around for a few minutes looking awkward, but eventually got the picture and left as well.

And Oz and Willow stood looking at one another.


	38. Sexy

“Hey,” Oz said eventually.

“Hey.”

“That was … different. Even for Sunnydale.”

“I know,” Willow agreed. “Just when you think you’ve seen everything—“ She hesitated. “Are—are you okay?”

“Yeah.” For a moment, he wasn’t sure why he wouldn’t have been okay. She was the one who’d had to deal with a vampire version of herself. He called that fairly freaksome.

“’Cause Buffy, and … and Xander, and Giles—even Angel was wigged when he saw me. I guess—I guess I don’t know what it would be like to see one of you and think you were dead, and they really thought—“

“Oh. Oh!” Oz took a step toward her and reached for her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “I knew, after a few minutes, that she wasn’t you. But that first sight, it—“ It had almost stopped his own heart, still and silent in his chest. But he couldn’t say that to her. It was too close, too deep.

Willow was watching him, something scared and uncertain in her eyes. She tugged her hand away from his. “I get it. She was really—beautiful. Sexy. And I’m …” She gestured down at herself. “Just plain old Willow. Reliable dog geyser.”

“What is that?”

“Buffy. Earlier. She called me reliable, and Xander … well, he was Xander. And Principal Snyder called me into his office and made me tutor Percy, and then Percy expected me to just—to just do all his work for him! So I got tired of being pushed around, and I stormed off, and then …” She gestured to the now-destroyed circle. “She came. And she was strong and powerful and sure of herself and everything I’m not, and no one pushed her around.”

Oz recaptured her hand. “Except you. The only person who could take her down was you, Willow.”

“I … Maybe.” She looked up at him, shyly. “Don’t you wish I looked like that?”

The question, the thought, struck him hard. Because … yeah, he kind of did. But also, he kind of didn’t. And either way, this wasn’t a conversation he was going to have in an abandoned factory. “Let’s get out of here. Um … your parents home?”

Willow shook her head. “As always. Mom had a lecture and Dad had a conference. Dallas? Atlanta? Who knows.”

As always, Oz wondered how his Willow had come out the astonishing individual she was in the face of such laxity. He tugged on her hand.

“We’re going to my place?”

He nodded. 

“Okay.” She walked along with him, uncharacteristically silent, still processing what had happened. Oz could only imagine being faced with such a radically different version of yourself, and what that would do to someone who already struggled with being at peace with who she was. 

At her house, they went up to her room, closing the door and turning on the lights. Willow turned to him, looking distressed. “Oz, you don’t have to prove anything to m—“

“Sh,” he said, and kissed her. Kissed her hard, and thoroughly, and with the kind of passion he normally held in check with her, concerned that she wasn’t ready for it.

She made a small noise that might have been protest in the back of her throat, stiffening at first, and then, slowly, she relaxed into it, her body melting against him little by little as she kissed him back, first tentatively and then with growing passion.

At last he broke the kiss, watching her eyelids slowly flutter open, her eyes hazy. 

“That’s what I think when I look at you,” he said, his voice husky in his own ears. 

“Oz.” Her hand curved around the back of his neck, bringing his mouth back to hers, kissing him again. 

He walked her back to the bed, one hand cupping the back of her head, tangling in her silky red hair, as he lowered her down. They shifted together so that he was lying along the length of her body, still kissing her. His free hand rested on the curve of her waist, thumb rubbing along the soft skin of her belly where her sweater had ridden up.

Willow pushed him back, sitting up long enough to take the sweater off. “It’s just me, Oz. Will you—will you still feel the same way when she’s not here?”

Oz sat up, too, kissing the edge of her shoulder. “You were beautiful to me the first time I saw you. You were dressed as an Eskimo, and I wanted to know who you were underneath that coat. Your name and your brain and yourself … and your body.” He edged even closer, embracing her from behind, both hands sliding around to caress her stomach. “And the first time you kissed me, it was like an electric shock.”

Willow was leaning back against him, her eyes closed, and he moved his hands up and up until he was cupping her breasts through her bra. She arched her back, pressing herself more firmly into his touch.

“You are so beautiful.” He traced circles around her nipples. She was so responsive, her breath catching and little noises escaping her as he touched her. This was about her, about what she needed, so Oz maintained his control, but God, he wanted her. He dreamed of the day she was ready for him, truly ready in every way.

As his thoughts drifted that way, one of his hands drifted lower, across the front of her corduroy skirt, until he was cupping her most private place. Willow gave a strangled cry, her eyes flying open as he made contact, and Oz held still to see what she would do.

He was as surprised as she was when she moved one of her hands between them and found him, running her palm across the hard ridge.

“Oz,” she said again, this time in wonder.

“Now do you know—“ He swallowed, unable to speak with her palm still moving across him, back and forth. “Do you know how sexy I think you are?” He closed his eyes as she closed her fingers around him as best she could through his jeans. “Willow.”

She had turned in his arms, kneeling next to him, her whole focus on the movement of her hand against him. He loved to watch her learning new things, fascinated by that knowledge, but she was driving him crazy.

“You—I can’t—Willow!” He caught her hand, meaning to lift it away from him.

“You really do,” she whispered, stroking again. “Show me?”

“Willow.” He started to protest, but … she needed this, it seemed, needed to know that she turned him on. It was hard for him to believe that she didn’t know, but he played things pretty close to the chest. “I really do,” he said at last, letting go of her hand. He popped the button on his jeans and slid down the zipper, and helped her free him from his underwear.

“Oh.” Willow was staring at him, her hand wrapped firmly in a very sensitive place, her thumb stroking another, almost idly. “What do I do?”

“That’s good,” he said, groaning as she stroked more firmly. “Move your hand.”

Lying back, he closed his eyes and let her work on him, unable to believe this was his shy, tentative Willow. If she needed this in order to feel sexy, he was more than willing—but it was such a change from their previous slow pace that he was having a hard time relaxing into the moment. Or he was, until he felt her tongue lightly touch him, and the sensation was so intense he momentarily lost conscious thought altogether. Feeling the change in him, she did it again, and again, light soft touches while her hand moved up and down.

He wasn’t even sure what he was saying now. Her name, and inarticulate groans and sighs, but she had taken control of the encounter now, and he had … lost it. At last, he knew he was close, and he pulled her off him. “Let me …”

“Oz.”

Her hand closed over his, and he was too close to push it away. Together they brought him to completion, Willow watching with fascination. Lying there, spent, Oz was relieved—he had been afraid she would be disgusted when they eventually got here.

“Do you want me to … do anything?” he asked her.

She frowned at him, reaching for her sweater to wipe him off with. “Oh! No, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You know that stuff stains.”

Willow frowned down at her sweater. “It’s okay. I don’t think I’ll wear this one again. Oz?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled. “Feels like that should be the other way around.” He held an arm out, and she snuggled up against his chest. 

“No. I feel … I don’t know. Different. More … like a woman. Does that sound dumb?”

“Not at all.” He smiled, holding her against him. “Sexy?”

Willow smiled too. “Yeah, maybe so.”


	39. Virtue

The next day, walking across campus with Buffy, Willow felt like a whole new person. Not like the vampire version of her—that Willow had been way too far over the line into … strangeness. But she had left some of her confidence behind. Watching Oz’s face last night, as he let himself go in her hands, literally, had been educational, as well. It was one thing for him to tell her how she affected him, but given his control of himself, she had never truly been able to see it. Now she had seen how he felt, what she could do, and beyond the sexual connotations, she felt somehow as though she had matured a little more into the woman he saw when he looked at her.

She wasn’t sure she could tell Buffy, though—or, more accurately, wasn’t sure she wanted to tell Buffy just yet. Whatever had happened to her, seeing herself as a vampire, seeing herself through Oz’s eyes, feeling her own power standing up to the vampire … Willow wanted to keep it to herself for just a little while, to work through it in her own head before she shared it. Comparing herself to the vampire her made her realize just how wrong you could go when trying to avoid being yourself—the trick was to be a well-rounded Willow, one who did all the reliable things her friends and others counted on, but who also learned to handle magic better so that accidents like pulling vampires from other worlds didn’t happen again. 

They sat together on a bench outside the school, she and Buffy, content just to sit there and know that together they had fought yet another piece of the weirdness of Sunnydale and lived to tell about it.

Buffy turned to her. “Want to go out tonight?”

Willow thought about it for a moment. Maybe she’d had enough excitement, enough growth, for one week. “Strangely, I feel like staying at home. And doing my homework. And flossing. And dying a virgin.” She wasn’t as sure about that last one, but thinking of the vampire Willow made her not want to push things any further than she had last night.

“You know, you can o.d. on virtue,” Buffy told her.

“Between me and my evil self, I have double guilt coupons. I see now where the path of vice leads. She messed up everything she touched! I don’t ever want to be like that.”

She looked up as a shadow fell across her lap, seeing Percy standing there. He had what looked like folders under his arm. Some kind of basketball studying, she assumed.

“Hey,” he said. “Uh, hi.”

She had entirely forgotten to do his assignment. Principal Snyder was going to yell at her. Just what she needed. “Oh, hi, listen, I didn’t have a chance to—“ she began, but he cut her off before she could get any further.

“Okay, so, I did the outline for the paper on Roosevelt.” He held out one of the folders to her. “It turns out there were two President Roosevelts, so … I didn’t know exactly which one to do, so I did both.” He handed her another folder. “And I know they’re kinda, kinda short, but, um, I can flesh them out. Oh, and—and here’s the bibliography.” A third folder joined the other two on her lap. “And I can retype that, if you want. You just let me know what I did wrong and I’ll get on that.”

Willow stared at the folders, dumbfounded. What had happened between yesterday and today to turn his refusal to even talk to her to this abject willingness to do whatever it took to get it right? Could he have run into her vampire self? No, she thought, that would be too weird. 

Percy walked off, then came back, carefully placing an apple on top of the pile of folders, and then hurried away again.

Buffy and Willow sat in silence for a moment. Then Buffy said, again, “You want to go out tonight?”

Willow could no longer see why not. “9 sound good?”

“Yeah.” Buffy nodded. “9 sounds good.”


	40. Thoughts

Willow sank into her chair, waiting to hear Buffy’s announcement. She hoped the aspect of the demon, whatever it was, would help. Buffy could use the help, especially with Faith off doing … whatever it was she did.

“Thank you all for coming,” Giles said, pulling off his glasses and gesturing with them, as he so often did. “Buffy has gained her aspect of the demon, and it seemed best that we tell you all about it at once. She has developed telepathy.”

“Telepathy? She can go inside televisions?” Xander asked.

Giles rolled his eyes. “Telepathy, Xander. She can hear thoughts.”

Xander frowned. “She can read our minds? Our every impulse and fantasy?”

Considering that Willow was fairly sure Xander’s thoughts were all about girls, and sex, and probably sometimes Buffy and sex, she could imagine why he would be concerned. 

Buffy nodded. “Every one.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with me,” Cordelia said.

“Well, I think it’s great,” Willow said loyally. Reading minds meant Buffy could anticipate what her enemies might do; it was a powerful weapon. She smiled up at Buffy. “Right? I mean, you enjoy your other Slayer powers.”

“It’ll be fun,” Buffy agreed. “And did you see Nancy Doyle’s face in English class today?”

That was how Buffy had been so impressive—she’d been reading the teacher’s mind. That smacked of cheating to Willow, although she would never say so out loud. And now she couldn’t think it, either, she realized. Because Buffy would know. She was now the smartest, along with the strongest and the fastest. How could Willow ever keep up? “Yeah,” she said, “she’s super competitive.” But she was thinking, _She’s hardly even human anymore. How can I be her friend now? She doesn’t need me._

“No, I do need you,” Buffy protested. 

Willow was startled, not having even been entirely aware of what she was thinking. To have Buffy suddenly in on the private conversations she had in her thoughts … She looked away, not sure what to say to her best friend suddenly.

“Okay, what are you talking about?” Cordelia asked. “Because you are so creepy right now.”

“I think there must be some … precedent for an occurrence such as this,” Giles suggested. “I’ll research it. Wesley, can you give me a hand?”

“Of course. Where do you think we should start?”

As the Watchers conferred, Buffy looked around the room. She was listening, Willow realized, hearing what everyone was thinking. 

Oz was frowning, clearly considering what had occurred, but all he said was, “Hm.” Did Buffy know what he was thinking? Could she hear his thoughts? Somehow Willow had trouble imagining that—but it must be true.

Before she could take those thoughts any further, Buffy said, “God, Xander, is that all you think about?”

Xander, caught in the midst of some sexual fantasy, no doubt, looked up at her guiltily. “Actually? Bye!” And he was gone, where presumably Buffy couldn’t hear him think any more. Although Willow wondered—how far did Buffy’s radar, or whatever it was, reach? Could she hear the president? Someone in Australia? It was an interesting speculation.

Wesley cleared his throat. “Xander has just illustrated something. Chances are you’re all going to be thinking whatever you least want Buffy to hear. It’s a question, of course, of mental discipline.”

“He’s right,” Giles called from deep in the stacks. “There are mystical ways to block your thoughts …”

Willow was watching Buffy watch Wesley. A smile spread across her face; whatever Wesley was thinking clearly wasn’t as mentally controlled as he claimed.

“Excuse me,” he said, and wheeled around and left the room. With more dignity than Xander, but equally as much haste.

“What’s it like, Buffy?” Willow asked, wanting to understand.

“I don’t know. I mean, it’s a little weird, but …” She looked intently at Willow. “Look, please don’t for a second think that I don’t need you, because I do. I want to share this with you. It’s like … all these doors are opening to all these little worlds, and I can just walk right inside.” She stopped, distracted, and turned to look over her shoulder at Oz. 

Willow wanted to cry. _She knows so much_ , she thought. _She knows what Oz is thinking. I never know that! Before long she’ll know him better than I do!_

“No, don’t think that!” Buffy said. 

“I—I can’t help it, Buffy.” She couldn’t sit here any longer, watching her best friend disappear into other people’s minds, feeling that somehow Buffy listening to Oz’s thoughts put a greater distance between herself and Oz. “I’m sorry—I just can’t.”

She got up and grabbed her jacket, hurrying away, just as Xander and Wesley had before her.


	41. Himself

Oz followed Willow from the library, catching her in the empty hallway. “Hey.”

“Hey.” It was glum-Willow voice, the one that said she was deep in her own head.

“Buffy’s going to be okay.”

“Of course she’s going to be okay!” Willow burst out. “She’s always okay. Better than okay. She can do everything, and now she knows everything, too!”

Oz shook his head. “Reading people’s thoughts isn’t the same as knowing things, Will. Buffy’s aware of that. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“But—but—“ There was more, but Willow didn’t want to tell him. She was looking down at her shoes. 

“What is it?” Oz asked her. He reached for her hand, pulling her in for a hug, holding her there while she sorted through her thoughts.

“It’s … Oz, what were you thinking?”

“Me?” 

Willow pulled back so she could look him in the eye. “Yeah. You were thinking something, for a long time. I know, ‘cause Buffy was watching you. She was listening to what you were thinking; she knew what you were thinking! But all you said was ‘huh’, so _I_ didn’t know what you were thinking.”

“Oh.” So that was it. That was a tough one. He had found Buffy’s newfound skill interesting, but also intrusive. He liked to keep his thoughts to himself, private, letting them out when he thought they were best used. “I hope she develops some control over it. People’s thoughts aren’t meant for anyone else to hear.”

“But … she can hear you. If things go on this way, she’ll know you better than I do.”

Oz gave that one some thought. It was true: If Buffy could hear his thoughts she knew an essence of himself that he kept away from everyone. “It’s not really the same. She’ll know what I’m thinking, but not me.”

“But you are your thoughts!” Willow protested. “You’ve said so, when we had that whole argument about Nietszche and Freud.”

He remembered that one, and saying so, and smiled briefly at the memory. “Point.” Oz looked at Willow thoughtfully. Then he had an idea. “Come on. I’m going to show you something—just for you.”

Willow looked skeptical, but she came with him. They walked over to his house, talking about minor things along the way. 

His mother looked up from her book and said hello as they walked in, then went right back to it after their responding greetings. Oz took Willow up to his bedroom, grateful as always for the trust his parents placed in him, to know what to do and with whom and when. 

Willow hovered in the doorway, looking nervous. “Oz, I don’t think this is—“

“Trust me.” He gestured to the bed. “You can sit there, or on the floor if you’d rather. Okay?”

“O … kay,” she said doubtfully. She sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed, next to a pile of T-shirts he kept meaning to put away.

Oz took his guitar down and sat on his stool next to the window. As he tuned and strummed, his focus narrowed until it was just himself and the instrument. Somewhere in the back of his mind was a shining awareness that he was playing for Willow, that her eyes were on his fingers as they worked, watching intently, but most of him was just hearing the notes and feeling the vibration of the guitar in his arms.

Once it was tuned, he let his mind wander, thinking through the problems and issues of the day, notes issuing forth as his fingers followed his thoughts. At some point, he forgot Willow was there, falling into the familiar routine.

And then he came to an end, a final chord hanging in the air. Only when all was still did he open his eyes and remember Willow.

She was staring at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“So, that’s … did you write that?”

“I didn’t really write it. I just played what I was thinking.”

“Oh.” And then, “Huh.”

Oz smiled. “See, now who’s doing it? What did you think?”

“I thought … that’s so you.”

He chuckled. “It is me. Literally. And … it’s my thoughts in a purer and clearer form than words. Buffy might be able to hear what I’m thinking, but you could hear what I was feeling, and that’s … different. It’s more me.”

“I get that.” Willow got up from the bed and came toward him. 

Oz put his guitar down and opened his arms and she came into them, resting her head on his shoulder. “No one will ever know me better than you do,” he whispered into her hair, and he felt her smile.


	42. Future

It was nice just to sit and have lunch for a change, no big apocalypses on the way, surrounded by her people. Oz sat next to Willow, Xander was hunkered down with a book—Kerouac’s _On the Road_ , which seemed an ambitious choice for him, but he was determined to make the best of his collegeless future and Willow was equally determined to support that—and Buffy sat on the other side of the table, worrying about her mom's shiny new obsession with Buffy going to college. Which was also a nice change, from Buffy worrying about Angel, or Faith, or an impending apocalypse … or being expelled.

Across the quad, Willow saw Mr. Snyder leaving a table full of unhappy students. He glanced their way, and she tensed slightly, wondering if he was going to bring his issues over to their happy table, but he kept walking, and she relaxed a bit more, leaning against Oz. 

“She was talking to her cousin in Illinois when I left. I couldn’t tell if she was just bragging, or if she was checking on how much it costs to fly there.” Buffy sighed.

“Sounds like your mom’s in a state of denial.”

“More like a continent.” Buffy shrugged. “She just has to realize that I can’t go away.”

“Well, maybe not now,” Willow pointed out, “but … soon. Maybe.” She caught Buffy’s pointed expression across the table, and said sheepishly, “Or, maybe I, too, hail from Denial-Land.”

“Faith’s turn to the dark side of the Force pretty much put the proverbial kibosh on any away plans for me. UC Sunnydale,” Buffy said with forced cheer. “At least I got in. You!” she said, turning her focus on Willow. “I mean, I can’t believe you got into Oxford.”

Willow could feel the smile bubbling up from inside her. She was pretty bored by the whole college thing, truth be told, but … Oxford. That one was exciting. She hadn’t decided what to do about it yet; she hadn’t talked to Oz about his plans. Probably they should have talked by now, but part of her was afraid to, afraid to find that they wanted things that would take them different places. What she wanted was for Oz to come with her, wherever she ended up going, and that seemed reasonable—given his intelligence, he was surprisingly lacking in ambition—but she didn’t know if he would see it that way, and some part of her was very reluctant to initiate the conversation or to be seen as if she assumed her plans were more important than his. She put all that aside for the moment, however, and just luxuriated in the feeling of having gotten into Oxford. “It’s pretty exciting.”

She glanced at Oz, who rubbed her arm. There was pride in his expression, but something else, too, something that said they ought to have that conversation sooner rather than later. “That’s some deep academia there,” he said.

“That’s where they make Gileses!” Buffy said, seeming to find it as cool as Willow did. 

Willow felt a glow at that tone, loving this moment where her achievement was making everyone happy. Not that she felt slighted, but Buffy did so many big things, it was amazing when she did something that impressed Buffy in turn. “I know, right? I can learn, and—and have scones. Although I don’t know how I feel about going to school in a foreign country,” she added.

“Everything in life is foreign territory.”

They all turned to look at Xander, and then shared an amused, indulgent, and a little bit mocking glance at his expense. They loved him, and they understood, but … he was being a little pretentious.

“Kerouac,” Xander said, showing them his book. “He’s my teacher. And the open road, my school.”

“Making the open dumpster your cafeteria?” Buffy suggested.

“Go ahead, mock me.”

“I think she just did,” Oz said.

Xander closed the book with an exaggerated sigh. “We bohemian anti-establishment types have always been persecuted.”

“Oh, sure,” Oz agreed. “You’re always so weird.”

Willow smiled at him, glad that he and Xander had reached a place where they felt comfortable exchanging witticisms. She had worried that they would always be tense around each other. “I think it’s neat, you doing the backpack trail-mix happy wanderer thing.”

“I’m aware it scores kinda high on the hokey-meter, but I think it’ll be good for me, help me to find myself.”

Of course Cordelia had to be walking by just then. For someone who claimed to be so over Xander, she found a lot of reasons to be where he was, Willow thought, somewhat more sourly than she probably ought to given everything that had happened. 

“And help us to lose you,” Cordelia added to Xander’s sentence. “Everyone’s a winner.”

Xander got to his feet. “Look who just popped open a fresh can of venom.” He crossed in front of Cordelia in a patently fake attempt to act like he didn’t care she was there, and bent over Willow, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, d’you hear about Willow gettin’ into Oxnard?” 

“Oxford,” Willow corrected.

“And MIT,” Xander went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “and Yale, and every other college on the face of the planet, as in your face I rub it.”

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. “Oxford? Whoopee. Four years in Teabag Central. Sounds thrilling. And MIT? Is a Clearasil ad with housing; and Yale is a dumping ground for those who didn’t get in to Harvard.”

“I got into Harvard,” Willow protested, but quietly. Despite the various things that had brought her and Cordelia together in recent years, it was hard to get past a lifetime of being put down, viciously, by this girl.

Cordelia didn’t have a comeback to that, and Xander asked her, “Any clue on what college you might be attending, so we can start calculating minimum safe distance?”

“None of your business,” she snapped. “Certainly nowhere near you losers.”

“Hey, guys, don’t forget to breathe between insults,” Buffy said.

“I’m sorry, Buffy,” Cordelia said. “This conversation is reserved for those who actually have a future.”

Having shot her best arrow, and struck Buffy right where she was most vulnerable, Cordelia walked off. Willow contemplated a spell she had seen that caused black spikes to erupt from the skin, thinking how nice it would be to see Cordelia look like the monster she was. 

Buffy sat silently, unable to get past the last comment, so close to her own fears about her life and what lay ahead of her in it.

Oz said softly, “A very angry young woman.”

“Oh, Buffy, she was just being Cordelia. Only … more so. Don’t pay any attention to her.”

“She’s definitely got a chip going,” Xander said.

“Maybe if you didn’t goad her so much,” Willow said to him.

“I can’t help it,” he protested. “It’s my nature.”

“Maybe you need a better nature.”

Buffy got up, quietly collecting her books, the peaceful lunchtime entirely ruined. “Guys, I’m gonna … be elsewhere.”

“You want me to be elsewhere with you?” Willow asked.

“Not right now, thanks, Will. Think I’ll look up Giles and go hit things. That often helps.”

They watched her walk away, all of them silent and wishing they could do something to help. But this was the Slayer’s burden. Willow knew from her reading how few Slayers actually made it to a point where they had to worry about a future, and that only scared her more, and made her more determined to keep up her studies in witchcraft so she could help Buffy survive to enjoy whatever future lay before her as much as possible.


	43. Maps

To Willow’s surprise, Buffy was deep in a book when she and Giles came into the library after school. Buffy was telling Xander all about whatever it was she had discovered. It did Willow’s heart good to see them both so studious … for a change. On the other hand, if Buffy was being book-girl, that always meant something bad had happened, or was about to happen, and that didn’t do Willow’s heart so much good. In this case, she assumd it had to do with the weird box Faith had delivered to the Mayor last night.

Wesley looked up as Giles approached, looking at the folded papers he carried. “What’s that?”

“Maps … and stuff.”

“Plans for City Hall,” Willow clarified. “Including the water and power mainframe.”

“The box is being kept under guard in a conference room on the top floor,” Buffy said as she and Giles both bent over the map. She pointed. “There.” Frowning, she added, “Unfortunately, that’s all I could get out of my informant before his aggressive tendencies forced me to introduce him to Mr. Pointy.”

“Well, now,” Wesley began, looking over the map, “here’s what I think we should do—“

But Buffy talked right over him. “I figure we enter through the skylight. I’ll take Angel with me.”

“Agreed,” Giles said.

Xander reached across the map, pointing. “There’s a fire ladder on the east side of the building, here.”

“Yes,” Wesley said, still trying to take ownership of the conversation, and the plan, “yes, fine, but we still need to consider whether the Mayor—“

“Won’t be enough to simply get possession of the box,” Giles cut in.

“Right. We have to destroy it. Not just physically; ritually. With some down and dirty black magic.” Willow smiled, glad to have a part in the plan that actually required some skill.

“Hang on!” Wesley said. “We don’t know what such a ritual would require.”

Giles looked up from the book he was flipping through. “I think the Breath of the Entropius is standard for this sort of thing. Here are the supplies we need.” Reversing the book, he handed it across the table. “Xander?”

Taking the book, Xander nodded. “I know, I’m ingredient-gettin’ guy.” He grabbed his jacket and tucked the book under his arm and was on his way toward the door when Wesley snapped.

“All right! Stop!” He walked over to stand between Xander and the door, holding up his hands. “I demand everyone stop this instant.” As the rest of them all turned to look at him, he got himself under control—or at least his volume—and continued more softly, “I am in charge here. And I say this is all moving much too fast. We need time to fully analyze the situation and devise a proper and strategic stratagem.” As he talked, the rest of them exchanged looks. Poor guy, he really was completely out of his depth.

“Wes?” Buffy looked at him. “Hop on the train or get off the tracks.”

“The Mayor will most assuredly have supernatural safeguards protecting the box.” He looked around triumphantly, aware that he had brought up a point that hadn’t yet been covered. In the silence, he smiled. “Oh! We all forgot about that, did we?”

Buffy said, “Looks like a job for Wiccan girl.” She turned to look at Willow. “What do you say, Will? Big time danger.”

Willow smiled, pretending for the moment that she was brave like Buffy. “Hey, I eat danger for breakfast.”

Xander pointed in Wesley’s direction. “But oddly enough, she panics in the face of breakfast foods.” He took off, and Buffy followed, gesturing Willow to come along with her.

“Let’s get to work.”

Giles handed Wesley the pile of maps and they all left the new Watcher standing alone in the middle of the room. Willow hoped he caught up to the rest of them soon; sticking to protocol and deliberateness the way he was, he seemed likely to get himself killed.


	44. Sage

Oz carefully placed the bowl on top of the stand, musing on the irony that his comparative lack of fighting or supernatural skill had placed him on Xander’s team again. At least work kept them from having to make small talk, but Oz knew eventually he was going to have to develop a level of comfort with Xander or risk a serious bump in his relationship with Willow.

He wasn’t entirely happy about her going along to break into City Hall, either. As much as he told himself that she was strong, and fearless, and powerful, and that Buffy and Angel would watch her back … it hadn’t been that long since the incident with vampire Willow, and Oz still felt the heart-pounding horror of that moment when he thought he had lost her to the darkness.

Before Oz could go any further down the shadowy road of his fears Xander came in with a bag from the magic shop. For once, Oz was grateful to see him.

“You got the goods?” he asked. They didn’t want to mess this up—it was a tricky recipe to begin with, and neither of them wanted to let Willow down, not to mention Buffy.

Xander opened the bag and peered into it. “Yeah.” He started extracting packages. “Essence of toad, twice-blessed sage …” He paused, shaking the bag a little, looking confused. “Maybe that’s the toad.”

“Well, we better be sure. Destroying this box is supposed to be a pretty delicate operation.”

“Then they shouldn’t leave it in the hands of the laypeople.”

Oz went to the table, where Willow’s instructions were spread out. “Will laid it out for us pretty well.” Xander followed him, looking over his shoulder. 

“Wow, she even drew helpful diagrams. That’s the pedestal.”

“Mm-hm. And the ingredients. And us.” Oz pointed at the two stick figures. “See, there’s you, and there’s me.”

“How can you tell which is which? I mean, they both kinda look stick-figurey to me.”

“No, this one’s me. See the little guitar?” He gazed fondly at the drawing. Willow’s art skills were not strong, but she had put the extra thought into his depiction. Perhaps it was petty of him, but he appreciated the differentiation.

“Oh, got you.” Xander clearly didn’t see the little guitar, but that was okay, because it was totally there.

“Yeah. Nobody like my Will,” Oz murmured, half to himself. They both looked at the drawing for a few more seconds before putting it back and sorting through the ingredients.

“No, sir, there is not,” Xander agreed. 

Oz carried some bay leaves to the bowl and dropped them in. “Okay. Toad me.”

Xander tossed him the bag.

As he poured the toad essence on top of the leaves, Oz sighed, almost unaware of it.

But Xander must have heard him, because the rustling of plastic bags of ingredients stilled. “Hey. She’s going to be all right. Buffy wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”

“Yeah.”

“That was noncommittal, even for you.”

“It’s just … the vampire thing, you know?” Oz would have given a lot to be talking to someone else about this right now. Anyone else.

“I know. Still got the wiggins from that one myself. But that wasn’t real. Or, at least, not real for us.”

“But it could be.”

Xander paused for a moment, wrestling with that one. “Yeah, it could. But it hasn’t been yet. Living on the Hellmouth is all about living in the now and taking every victory as it comes—you can’t get caught worrying about what might happen or you’ll go crazy.”

Oz turned around, frowning at him, not having expected such thoughtfulness. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Well, there’s a first.”

He thought about making a joke, knowing Xander would be more comfortable if he did, but he couldn’t—that easy banter just wasn’t his style, and especially not with Xander … at least, not yet. Maybe there would come a time. Instead, he cleared his throat and walked over to look at the table. “What’s next?”

“Looks like … sage.”

And they went on, following Willow’s directions, pretending they weren’t afraid for her.


	45. Worth

The ritual on the City Hall rooftop had gone as smoothly as any spell Willow had ever done; it had all worked exactly as planned, without a hitch. So as she climbed down from the roof, Willow was feeling good. Confident, on top of her game, totally badass. 

Until she reached the bottom of the ladder, came around the corner of the building, and found Faith waiting for her. The Slayer had her hand over Willow’s mouth, shoving her back against the brick wall of the building, before she could call out to Buffy. 

“What were you doing on the roof?” Faith asked.

Willow mumbled something about it being none of Faith’s damned business, which would have sounded a lot better without a mouthful of Faith’s hand in the middle of it.

“You know, getting my hand all sticky isn’t really going to make me let go,” Faith told her. “I’ve had worse. And since I’m not really interested in whatever pathetic lie you’re thinking up, I think we’ll just stay like this while I haul you inside. The Mayor’s going to want to ask you some questions about what Miss Buffy is up to.”

Willow didn’t bother trying to struggle until Faith got her in the building and let go of her mouth. Then she tried to make a run for it … getting all of three steps in her awkward too-tight-for-running skirt before Faith had an arm around her neck. An arm with a hand on the end of it that was holding a wickedly sharp dagger. And since Willow knew that if their positions were reversed she would give some serious thought to letting the knife slip, and that Faith had far fewer scruples about human life than she had, she understood that the danger to her right now was all too real.

Faith walked her to the elevator and then out into the carpeted hall on the top floor, where Mayor Wilkins was having a bit of a temper tantrum in the conference room. Willow couldn’t help but be pleased that Buffy and Angel had succeeded, but she wondered where they were. Did they know she was missing, or were they assuming she had made it safely back to the library? Was there going to be a rescue mission? Would the Mayor just kill her? She was terrified, but she was also trying to think through what might happen, what she could expect. Buffy would be keeping her cool right now, maybe even punning. Willow couldn’t pun—especially not with Faith’s wrist pressed against her windpipe—but she could think.

“They’ve got my box,” the Mayor was saying through gitted teeth as Faith dragged Willow into the conference room doorway.

“Yeah, they do. But looky what we got.” 

The Mayor turned around, his eyes resting on Willow. He seemed so normal, so nice, even, but something in his eyes gave Willow the wiggins. She no longer felt badass. Or any kind of ass … except possibly a dumb one. What had she been thinking?

“Can I tickle her a little, boss?” Faith asked, the dagger moving against Willow’s throat in a way that left no doubt what kind of tickling she meant.

He studied Willow thoughtfully. “Maybe later. Let’s see what she’s worth to them first.” He came closer, still looking down at Willow with that calculating, emotionless look in his eyes. “Are they debating right now what’s worth more, you or my box? I can tell you right now which choice I’d make. You’d better hope they’re more sentimental than I am.” He grinned suddenly. “And I can be pretty sentimental. I still have my wife’s wedding bouquet, and that was, what, eighty years ago? My, my, how time flies.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away down the hall, whistling.

Willow was chilled at how quickly his moods had changed. Or she was, until Faith’s arm tightened around her neck and she was chilled instead by how little it would take for Faith to cut off her breathing entirely—and how much pleasure Faith would take in it.

“Come on, let’s find you someplace to wait until Miss Buffy decides if you’re worth saving. Does it ever get old, being all helpless?” Faith chuckled. “I’d get pretty tired of it, if I were you. Fortunately, I’m not.”


	46. Focus

When the others had all returned to the library and it became clear Willow wasn’t with any of them, Oz was immediately filled with a depth of rage that both frightened him and made him feel powerful, at the same time. It was as if he could feel the wolf within himself, something he had often wished for and dreaded and always half-expected. But he was no good to Willow if he surrendered himself to the anger, and the fear that lay beneath it. He seated himself firmly, clasping his hands, trying to calm himself enough to think clearly.

Buffy was not interested in calming herself—she had expected Giles and Wesley to wait for Willow, and the fact that they had left without her outraged the Slayer. “How did you guys let this—“ She caught herself, realizing that blame was only going to get into a round of denials that wouldn’t help anyone. “How did this happen?” she asked in a more measured tone.

“We thought she stayed with you,” Giles muttered, turning away and shoving his hands into his pockets. He wasn’t happy, either, and Oz imagined he probably blamed himself. Well, he ought to. Of course, so should Buffy. And Oz blamed himself, as well. He should have gone with her … but she had asked him to put together this spell for her, and how could he say no to something she asked of him?

“They must have grabbed her when she hit the ground.” Angel looked up, distress overlaying his normally expressionless features. “Buffy, I’m sorry.”

Buffy was holding back her temper with obvious effort. “It’s nobody’s fault, okay? We just need to focus and deal.” She looked down at Oz. “Oz, I swear I won’t let them hurt her.”

He tried to acknowledge the promise, empty though they both knew it was. What was to stop Faith from hurting Willow? She might have already, for all they knew. As much as Willow sensed something in Faith that was alien to her nature and threatening, Faith sensed the same in Willow. She would enjoy making Willow suffer. Oz swallowed, trying to push away the nausea and the burning desire to get up and do something that came with that thought.

“We go back,” Xander offered. “Full-on assault.”

“They’ll kill her,” Giles told him.

“We’re assuming they haven’t already?” Wesley asked. Oz wanted to smash his fist into the Watcher’s face, those well-bred emotionless tones talking about his Willow like that, as if it was just another piece of tactics and didn’t really matter.

Focus, he told himself. Giving way, losing control, was no way to help Willow.

Buffy spoke into the silence that followed Wesley’s words. “No. No, they know what she means to us. She’s too valuable as long as we still have—“ She gestured toward the hard-won gain of the night, pausing as the idea struck her. “The box.” She looked up at the Watchers, her expression saying she knew how poorly the next sentence was going to go over. “We trade.”

Immediately, Wesley responded, “We can’t.”

“No, it’s the safest plan! It’s the only way, right?” Buffy looked to Giles for his reaction.

“It might well be.”

Wesley looked between both of them, incredulous.

Buffy said, “Look, we call the Mayor and arrange a meeting.”

“This box must be destroyed,” Wesley protested. 

“I need a volunteer to hit Wesley.” Xander’s hands were still firmly in his pockets, though, Oz noted.

He had given up considering hitting Wesley. Satisfying though it might be, it wouldn’t get the point across, and would only cause further argument.

Ignoring Xander, Wesley said, “Giles, you know I’m right about this.”

“Wes, you want to duck and cover at this point?” Buffy asked.

He whirled on her, his voice raised. Oz couldn’t remember ever seeing the new Watcher so emotional. “Damn it, you listen to me. This box is the key to the Mayor’s ascension. Thousands of lives depend upon our getting rid of it. Now, I want to help Willow as much as the rest of you, but we will find another way.”

Oz tried to see it Wesley’s way. He really did. One life versus thousands—one person versus an entire town. But that one life was Willow. Her sweet face, her busy brain, her whole-souled devotion to the people she loved, the silkiness of her hair against his fingers, her convoluted way of talking … Oz didn’t care about thousands. He wasn’t even certain if he cared about himself, if it came down to it. Not if Willow was in danger. Sitting here, in a chair in the library discussing another catastrophe, just as they did every day, it seemed, he realized the full depth of how much he loved her.

“There is no other way,” Buffy argued. 

“You’re the one who said take the fight to the Mayor,” Wesley reminded her. “You were right. This is the town’s best hope of survival. It’s your chance to get out!”

“You think I care about that?” Buffy asked. “Are you made of human parts?”

Giles cut in. “All right! Let’s deal with this rationally.”

“Are you taking his side?” Buffy demanded in outrage, even as Wesley turned to Giles, shouting, “It’s not a question of being rational!”

Angel stepped forward, lending his voice to Buffy’s, and behind Oz, Xander joined in the chorus as well, all of them shouting at each other, none of them thinking any longer. Rationality had left the building, and none of this was going to help.

Oz let the voices swirl around him, focusing instead on his own inner voice, his own silence. Buffy was right; trading was the best, safest route. Wesley would never see that, not as long as he still held out hope for the box being destroyed. So the only thing to do was to make certain that the box couldn’t be destroyed. 

Wesley looked around at them all in disbelief. “You’d sacrifice thousands of lives? Your families, your friends?”

Oz got to his feet, knowing his answer with certainty. 

“It can all end, right here,” Wesley continued. “We have the means to destroy—“

But they no longer did, because Oz’s hand was sweeping out, knocking the bowl containing the carefully mixed ingredients aside, even as Wesley spoke. The bowl flew across the room, shattering against the wall, and there was silence as everyone turned to look at Oz. He faced them down, sure of what he had done, sure that it was the only thing he could have done, and then he nodded at Buffy.

She understood. “Giles, make the phone call.”

And Giles turned and went to his office.

Wesley was angry; let him be, Oz thought. If it meant the chance to bring Willow back, safe and alive, he didn’t care who was angry. As long as she was still safe, a thought he was trying very hard to bury deep so that he could help Buffy plan for the trade.


	47. Pencil

Faith had dragged Willow to a storage room, thrown her in, and locked the door. After waiting for Faith’s footsteps to recede—and she had heavy steps for a Slayer; didn’t she need to sneak up on people occasionally?—Willow’s first step was to try the door. Her second was to tug on the window, but it wouldn’t budge.

By now the others had to know she was missing. Buffy would be angry and determined to do something, Xander cracking jokes out of nervousness and unable to think of what to do, Giles trying to think through the logic of the situation, Angel supporting Buffy, Wesley arguing that the mission was the important thing. And Oz … But Willow didn’t want to think what Oz must be going through. After having thought she was dead before, now they all had to be afraid for her again. She cursed herself, and the stubborn window. How could she have been so careless as to let Faith capture her? Why was she still so helpless, after all this time with Buffy? Surely she should have learned some self-defense by now, shouldn’t she?

She pushed at the window some more, but it wouldn’t move. And the frosted glass was backed by chicken wire, so breaking it wouldn’t help her.

Turning around, she lifted some box lids, hoping to find something that might help her escape. Wire cutters, maybe? A lock pick for the door? Not that she knew how to pick a lock, but she was sure going to try if she was given the chance.

She pulled open a drawer, tugging too hard so that it landed on the floor with a loud clatter. Nothing in it anyway, just some pencils and staples and paper.

But behind her, the door opened, and one of the Mayor’s flunkies came in. Willow still hadn’t gotten used to men in suits with full vamp-face. It just seemed so incongruous. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Um …” What would Buffy say? Something clever. It was obvious she was looking for a way out, so anything she said was pretty meaningless, anyway, but she might as well go for clever Slayer-speak, if only to prolong the time the door was open and give herself a chance to think how to get through it without getting eaten. “I’m … looking for a sucking candy. ‘Cause my mouth gets dry when I’m nervous or … held prisoner against my will.” All of which was true.

The vampire was coming toward her, slowly, with a look on his face that said her use of the word ‘sucking’ might have given him some unfortunate ideas. She said as much, backing away as best she could among the boxes. “And suddenly I’m thinking that ‘sucking’ isn’t a good word to use around vampires. Hey,” she said more loudly as he continued to come toward her, slowly, taking his time, “did you get permission to eat the hostage? I don’t think so! You’re gonna be in some trouble when the Mayor gets—“ 

His hands closing on her shoulders cut off her very intelligent argument. Clearly, he didn’t care about getting in trouble, in the face of getting into her blood. His teeth were out and he was growling loudly, eyes on her throat.

Willow cringed away as best she could. “No!” Then over his shoulder she spied the fallen drawer, and in it the pencils, and suddenly she remembered that she wasn’t completely helpless. She had mastered—well, mostly mastered—at least one spell that could be useful in the case of being held against her will and about to be eaten by a vampire. She focused on the pencil, on lifting it into the air, ignoring the terrible breath of the vampire as he spoke.

“Just a little taste.”

The pencil was coming closer, and Willow trained all her attention on it, barely aware of the vampire’s fangs approaching her neck. Carefully, she aimed it, and then gave a burst of magic that piloted the pencil firmly through layers of jacket and shirt and skin and muscle into the heart.

The vampire turned into dust, and Willow stared at it for a moment, letting it sink in that she had actually done it—she’d killed a vampire, and found a way to get out of the storage room. Without wasting another moment, she hurried to the door.

The hallway was empty. Carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible, she made her way through the building. 

As she tiptoed down the hall, a door opened, and she heard Faith’s unmistakable voice saying, “They’re not gonna be brain-damaged enough to come back here tonight.”

Willow ducked hastily into the nearest room, closing the door as quickly and quietly as she could manage, as in the hallway the Mayor said, “You ever have a dog?”

“What?” Faith asked him.

“I did. Rusty. Irish setter. Swell little pooch. A dog’s friendship is stronger than reason, stronger than its own sense of self-preservation. Buffy’s like a dog. And hey, before you can say Jack Robinson … you’ll get to see me kill her like one.”

Willow peeked out around the edge of the door. Even though she knew he was evil, it was still strange to hear a man as polished and business-like as the Mayor speak that way. And about Buffy, no less! Well, no one was killing Buffy as long as Willow had anything to say about it.

As soon as Faith and the Mayor were out of sight, she hurried out of the room she had taken refuge in. She had to get to Buffy.

On her way out, though, she passed the Mayor’s office. The door wide open, the room empty, its secrets just beckoning her. Surely there were things in here that could help—surely they would never get another chance to rifle through his drawers and see what was here. She shouldn’t waste this chance. 

Willow went into the room, trying to decide where to look first. Quietly she closed the door, to ensure herself as much time as she could buy. 

There was a cabinet built into the wall—that looked like an interesting place to start. To Willow’s surprise, the doors came open easily. It wasn’t even locked. As she pulled them open, she thought maybe the lack of a lock indicated there was nothing to see, but then she glimpsed the artifacts piled on the shelves behind the doors and realized she had started in exactly the right place. 

Nothing jumped out at her—figuratively or literally. She sank to her knees, looking for anything that seemed strange or out of place in a cabinet full of bones and other magical artifacts. She touched a button on the underside of a shelf, and a hidden door slid open, revealing a set of very old books. Very interesting books. 

“The Books of Ascension,” she whispered to herself.

Willow pulled one out and opened it and was soon lost in discovering what lay within its pages.


	48. Adversary

How long Willow knelt there on the floor, flipping pages, trying to make heads or tails of what she found, carefully—but quietly—removing selected pages that looked as though they would be useful to Giles, she didn’t know. She got lost in the learning, applying her intelligence to the problem at hand.

So she didn’t hear the door open or Faith step in until Faith’s voice interrupted her studies. “Check out the bookworm.”

Willow whipped her head around, startled, and not a little afraid. Faith could easily kill her, probably wanted to, and then where would everything she had learned and stolen from these books be? “Faith,” she said, hoping to distract the Slayer with conversation. Buffy was better at that than she was, but she could try. She had to.

Faith came closer and hunkered down next to Willow and the open book that lay across her lap. “Anyone with brains—anyone who knew what was going to happen to her—would be tryin’ to claw her way out of this place.”

Willow wanted to point out that her problem was too many brains. It always had been. But Faith would take that as antagonism. She stayed silent, instead, trying to buy herself some time, waiting to see where Faith was going to take this.

Shifting to her knees, just that little bit closer, Faith went on, “But you—you just can’t stop Nancy Drewin’, can ya?” She closed the book with a thud, as Willow tried to memorize just what was on that last open page before it was out of view, and picked it up. “Guess now you know too much, and that kinda just naturally leads to killin’.” Faith was trying to look reluctant, but making a bad job of it. They both knew that each would happily see the other one dead. But Faith could kill, and Willow couldn’t, so this situation looked as though it had already been won. Willow tried to remain calm—surely someone would come for her. Surely Buffy would burst through the door. But until she did, it was Willow’s job to get out of here if she could, and stay calm if she couldn’t. She wasn’t going to let Faith make her cry.

She got to her feet hastily, and Faith rose also, with an easy grace. Willow envied both the Slayers their complete lack of awkwardness. “Faith,” she said breathlessly. “Wait. I want to talk to you.”

“Oh, yeah, gimme the speech again, please. ‘Faith, we’re still your friends’; ‘we can help you’; ‘it’s not too late’.”

Willow’s mouth curled up. “It’s way too late,” she said, and had the satisfaction of seeing the smug smile on Faith’s face begin to fade as her reaction wasn’t the mealy-mouthed whining the Slayer had expected. “You know, it didn’t have to be this way. But you made your choice. I know you had a tough life; I know that some people think you had a lot of bad breaks. Well, boo-hoo! Poor you,” she sneered. “You know, you had a lot more in your life than some people. I mean, you had friends like Buffy! Now you have no one. You were a Slayer, and now you’re nothing.” She wasn’t sure where she had meant to go with this, but she was getting carried away by the chance to finally tell Faith exactly what she thought of her. It was freeing. And Faith was standing there and taking it, which kind of surprised Willow. “You’re just a big, selfish, worthless, waste.”

That did it. Willow didn’t even see the punch coming, but it was a good one. It connected solidly and snapped her head back, knocking her sprawling to the floor. 

“You hurt me, I hurt you,” Faith said, coming after her. “I’m just a little more efficient.”

Willow was surprised she could still see, much less that it was so easy to get back up off the floor. Maybe she really had touched something in Faith. She was surprised the Slayer had admitted to having been hurt by what Willow had said. She got to her feet. “Oh, and here I just thought you didn’t have a comeback.”

“You’re beggin’ for some deep pain.” Faith put her hands on Willow’s chest, then let them fall, making her power clear.

Even though she was afraid, Willow was exhilarated, too. Faith was taking her seriously, treating her like an adversary and not like a helpless bug—and she was still alive, still in possession of the stolen pages and everything she had learned. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said, and meant it. Afraid, yes, but not in the way that would make her cower, or beg, or even back down. She had power of her own. Not physical power, like Faith had, but other power that Faith could never begin to understand.

Then Faith drew a really big, sharp, shiny knife and held it in front of Willow’s face. “Let’s see what we can do about that,” she whispered.

Willow closed her eyes briefly, but then she opened them and steeled herself. Whatever Faith could dish out, she would take it, she promised herself.

Then, from the doorway, came the voice of the Mayor. “Girls. I hope I don’t have to separate you two.”

Faith took the knife away from Willow’s face, looking disappointed and chastened. For all her bravado, she was the Mayor’s lap dog, Willow thought with satisfaction. 

In a stronger, more commanding tone, the Mayor said, “Faith, you can play with your new toy later. Something’s come up.”

He came into the room while Faith drew the cold steel gently down the side of Willow’s face again, although she was careful not to let it cut.

“Faith!” the Mayor said again, sharply.

She turned and looked at him, drawn from her bloodlust for the moment. 

“You know I don’t like repeating myself.”

Faith put her face close to Willow’s and whispered, “I got someone. I got him.” She backed away as the Mayor seated himself behind his desk. Faith hitched a hip onto the corner, leaning there with her arms folded.

The Mayor said, “I just received a heck of an interesting phone call.” He smiled.

Willow looked over at both of them.

“Seems like you must be pretty important to someone.” He looked Willow over. “I don’t see it, myself. You lack the snap and pizzazz of my Faith here. But to each his own. They’re willing to trade my box back for you, and in the end, that’s all I really care about. So be a good girl—I’d hate to have to send back damaged goods.”

His voice was friendly, affable, but his eyes were dead and cold as a snake’s. Taunting Faith was one thing—going against this man wasn’t something Willow intended to do without the full power of Buffy and the others behind her.


	49. Trade

They were set up in the cafeteria, waiting for the Mayor and his team to bring Willow. Oz could barely control his need to do something. His Willow was out there, possibly hurt, almost certainly scared, and he could do nothing to help her but wait here and hope the Mayor wasn’t feeling whimsical.

He and Xander checked the side doors, making sure they were locked; no one was coming in or out except through the front. No one trusted the Mayor—or Faith—to play by the rules.

“The whole place is locked down,” he said, “except for the front.”

“Yeah, gives me that comforting trapped feeling,” Xander muttered.

Oz got it—he didn’t like the feeling that for all that no one could come in, they couldn’t get out much either. 

“One way out means one way in,” Buffy said. She was pissed, Oz could tell—she had her “don’t mess with me, I kill things for a living” face on. “I want to see him coming,” she added.

Then the lights went out. The Mayor didn’t want them to see him coming, apparently.

“I guess they’re shy,” Xander said.

Angel, looking grim as always, observed, “I can see all right.”

The rest of them looked around, wanting to be certain there were no surprises coming up behind them. And then the front doors opened, a pair of vamps holding them while Mayor Wilkins walked in. Like some kind of royalty, which Oz guessed was how he thought of himself. Behind him came Faith, dragging Willow. She had a knife at Willow’s throat, but otherwise Willow appeared unhurt. Oz let out a breath he hadn’t even been aware he was holding.

The Mayor’s party stopped, and then the Mayor and Buffy both stepped forward into the middle of the room. 

Suddenly, the Mayor grinned. “Well, this is exciting, isn’t it?” He chuckled. “Clandestine meetings by dark of night, exchange of prisoners … I just, I feel like we should all be wearing trench coats.”

At another time, Oz might have appreciated a big bad with a sense of whimsy, but not with a knife held against Willow’s white skin, a knife that could slip at any moment.

Buffy wasn’t feeling it, either. “Let her go,” she said flatly. 

Wilkins lost his good humor. “No.” There was a collective increase in tension. And then he added, “Not until the box is in my hands.” He looked down at Buffy with interest. “So you’re the little girl that’s been causing me all this trouble.” After a moment’s thought, his gaze moved past Buffy. “She’s pretty, Angel. Little skinny. I still don’t understand why it couldn’t work out with you and my Faith. Guess you kinda just have strange taste in women.”

Stone-faced, Angel responded, “Yeah, well, what can I say? I like ‘em sane.”

In response, Faith jerked Willow’s head back, pressing harder with the knife, and Willow moaned in pain.

“Angel,” Oz said, keeping his voice low. He felt as though if he didn’t, the wolf would howl, and that was not what anyone needed right now.

Faith eased off. Oz could sense Giles moving, readying himself, just in case. Giles loved Willow, too, as Oz and Buffy and Xander did. He wouldn’t see her hurt if he could do anything about it. Not that that would help if Faith decided to take her revenge on Buffy through Willow.

Mayor Wilkins went on as if he hadn’t noticed any of it. Maybe he hadn’t; his focus seemed to be completely on Buffy and Angel. “Well, I wish you kids the best, I really do, but, uh, if you don’t mind a bit of fatherly advice, I, uh, I just … don’t see much of a future for you two. I don’t sense a lasting relationship. And not just because I plan to kill the both of you, but you got a bumpy road ahead.” He shook his head, looking as paternal as he claimed to be.

Buffy, who only tolerated anything approaching paternal from Giles, and then only occasionally, said, “I don’t think we need to talk about this.”

With another chuckle, as if he found her delightful, the Mayor went on, “God, you kids, you know, you don’t like to think about the future, you don’t like to make plans …” His tone changed, more serious, and Oz could see for the first time the man who intended to become a demon. “But unless you want Faith to gut your friend like a sea bass, you’ll show a little respect for your elders.”

“You’re not my elder,” Angel retorted. “I got a lot of years on you.”

“Yeah, and that’s just one of the things you’re gonna have to deal with. You’re immortal; she’s not. It’s not easy. I married my Edna Mae in ’03 and I was with her right until the end. Not a pretty picture. Wrinkled, and senile, and cursing me for my youth … Wasn’t our happiest time.”

The room was silent. At another time, Oz would have felt sympathy for Buffy, attacked here in her most vulnerable place, the place where she had no defenses, by someone who had actually been where she most wanted to go—into the future of a love between an immortal man and a very mortal woman. Right now, though, all he could see was Willow, and all he could feel was the need to go get her, a need that grew stronger every moment, despite his sure knowledge that if he moved, Faith would kill her, and do it with a smile on her face.

“And let’s not forget the fact that any moment of true happiness will turn you evil,” the Mayor pointed out. “I mean, come on. What kind of a life can you offer her? I don’t see a lot of Sunday picnics in the offing. I see you skulking in the shadows, hiding from the sun. She’s a blossoming young girl, and you want to keep her from the life she should have until it’s passed her by. And by God, I think that’s a little selfish.”

As he spoke, the Mayor had passed by Buffy, close enough to brush her arm as he passed, and ended practically nose-to-nose with Angel. To Oz, it seemed a sign of how close to the bone his words cut that neither of them had tried to break his arm.

Angel had no response, his face closed off, his eyes dark and shuttered, and Wilkins finished quietly, his final shot: “Is that what you came back from Hell for? Is that your greater purpose?”

The vampire’s eyes were burning in his white face, but he made no response. Neither did anyone else. Oz felt for them, he did, but his eyes were on Faith, and that knife, and Willow, locked frozen in the moment, waiting for Wilkins’ order.

The Mayor shook his head, and in a tone that dripped contempt, he said, “Make the trade.”

People moved, then, as he stepped aside. Angel lifted the box from the table as Faith and Willow moved into the center of the room. Faith shoved Willow at Buffy, who held her arms out for her friend. Whatever she felt about this evening, Buffy remembered why they were there, and who they were there for. Sheathing her knife, Faith took the box from Angel. Buffy pushed Willow back to safety, and Oz stepped in front of her, making sure no one could come at her again, not without having to go through him first. 

Wilkins stopped to study the box. His hands were still in his pockets. To the best of Oz’s recollection, his hands had never left his pocket. Sunnydale’s mayor was a very odd man. “Well, that went smooth—“ he was saying, as the doors burst open and Snyder walked in, accompanied by two police officers.

“Nobody moves!” Snyder said.

Everyone turned their head toward him. Oz couldn’t help but wonder if Snyder would still have a job tomorrow, after interrupting the Mayor’s important business.

As the Mayor stepped back into the shadows, Snyder approached Buffy and Faith, who still held the box. “I knew you kids were up to something.”

One of the policemen locked the main doors and stood in front of them. 

“Snyder, get out of here,” Buffy said.

“You’re not giving orders, young lady. I suppose you’re going to tell me I won’t find drugs in this box.” He reached out and took it from Faith’s arms, handing it to the policeman behind him.

Faith drew her knife, and Buffy reached out to catch the other Slayer’s arm. “Wait!”

At that point, the Mayor stepped out of the shadows. “Principal Snyder.”

Snyder turned, shocked first by the Mayor’s voice and second by the sight of Faith’s big knife. 

Wilkins continued, “I think we have a problem.”

“Mr. Mayor. I had no idea you were –“ The principal’s eyes were on the knife. He drew them away at last to look up at Wilkins. “I’m terribly sorry.”

“No, it’s I who should apologize. Coming down here at night—what must you be thinking?” Wilkins gave a smile and a little chuckle, back to everybody’s aw, shucks down home regular Joe. “But you see, I just needed to—uh, no! Don’t do that!” he said, his voice loud and alarmed.

The policeman holding the box had opened it and was looking inside. Before he could respond to the Mayor’s voice, a gigantic black spider was on his face, and the box was falling, the lid still open. The policeman fell, too, dead almost before he hit the ground, and the spider climbed off his face and skittered away. Everyone stood silent, waiting to see where it had gone.

“Oh, God,” Wesley said, making his presence known for the first time.

“Where’d it go?” Xander asked, his spiked club raised and ready to strike.

Snyder hissed at the remaining policeman, “Get that door open!”

“No!” Giles shouted. “You can’t let that thing out of here!”

The policeman was fumbling with his keys; they dropped to the floor with a clatter.

Oz kept Willow behind him, moving her back away from the box and, hopefully, out of harm’s way.

“I still want to know where it went,” Xander said, looking around his feet.

“Listen,” Buffy whispered, and they all heard its unearthly shriek, just before it dropped from the ceiling and landed directly on Mayor Wilkins’ face.

“Boss!” Faith hurried to his side, yanking the thing off him.

The box had been left where it had fallen, the lid still ajar, and another of the creatures hopped out, its claws tapping on the linoleum. Faith threw the one in her hand across the room, and it landed against a heating vent and disappeared into the darkness. Wesley and Giles both climbed up on chairs, poised to strike if they saw it, while Wilkins struggled to rise to a sitting position, shaking his head. The marks of the creature disappeared even as he did so. Snyder, watching this, stepped backward with a look of horrified disgust on his face.

So, Oz speculated, the principal didn’t know about Sunnydale, or at least, not all about it. Poor guy—hard enough to do that job with full knowledge, but fumbling around in the dark, metaphorically speaking? That must suck.

“I wouldn’t leave that open,” Wilkins said, staring at the box.

Buffy got to it and slammed down the lid just in time to prevent a third one from coming out, the lid slicing off the tips of two of its legs in the process. Then one of the first two landed on her back. She immediately fell over backward, pinning it underneath her. As Angel helped her to her feet, they could all see she had squashed it.

The last one finally made an appearance, climbing up the wall behind Wesley. Faith turned and hurled her knife at it, even as Wesley cried out in fear and cowered, thinking she was throwing it at him. The knife skewered the creature firmly to the wall.

Finished with all this nonsense, Wilkins crossed the room and picked up the box. The policeman finally found his keys and got the doors unlocked.

“Is that all of them?” Oz asked.

“Uh … not really. You see, there’s about, uh, fifty billion of these happy little critters in here. Would you like to see?” Wilkins asked.

The policeman shoved his way through the doors and was long gone. Oz put good odds on him quitting his job and leaving Sunnydale at the first convenient opportunity. The Mayor’s vamps followed him, and he put new odds on the policeman not making it through the night.

The Mayor, still holding the box, said to Buffy, “Raise your hand if you’re invulnerable.” He raised the lid half an inch.

Everyone believed he was telling the truth, no one wanted to test him or anger him further and have more of those spiders to deal with.

Satisfied that he’d made his point, he let the lid fall again. “Faith? Let’s go.”

Faith cast a glance over her shoulder at her knife, still pinned to the wall, and didn’t move.

The Mayor stopped in the doorway. “Faith.” And he left.

Faith looked at him and back at the knife again, and finally decided she wasn’t going to be able to get to it. She followed him through the doors.

The principal, standing there clutching a chair to his chest, as if that would have saved him, watched her go.

“Snyder,” Buffy said, “you alive in there?”

He turned back to look at her, his eyes wide with shock. “You. All of you. Why couldn’t you be dealing drugs like normal people?”

When there was no answer to his question, he left, too, still holding the chair.

Once he had disappeared and they were alone again, Buffy climbed up and pulled Faith’s knife out of the wall, letting the creature fall to the floor. 

Still standing on a chair, Wesley said, “Well, that went swimmingly.”

Buffy looked at the knife in her hand, and then up at Willow. “We did all right.”


	50. Suave

There was a silence in the cafeteria, none of them sure where to go from there. And then Xander, being Xander, said, “Who wants pizza?”

That broke the tension nicely—and as it turned out, with the exception of Angel, who didn’t eat, and Wesley, who was Wesley, everyone wanted pizza. Oz, arm firmly around Willow’s waist, said, “I don’t think they deliver at this hour. You want me to go pick it up?” 

He didn’t want to; she could hear that in his voice. He wanted to stay right here and be sure she was safe. But he couldn’t do that forever, and she was safe. She looked at him, giving him an encouraging smile. “Would you, please?”

“Yeah,” he said at last. “I’ll go.” He looked at Xander. “You coming?”

“Sure. But who’s paying?”

Giles rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet. “Feeding you teenagers is not covered in my contract.”

“But we appreciate it,” Buffy told him brightly.

“Guys, do you mind if we get out of here?” Willow asked. “I kind of feel the need for … light. And no scary spider things on the floor that might come back to life.”

“They’re dead, Will,” Buffy said reassuringly. “But let’s get back to the library anyway. And you can tell me how it happened that you ended up a prisoner in City Hall.”

“Me and Thoreau,” Willow said.

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

It was Buffy’s turn to put an arm around Willow and make sure she was all right. Arm in arm they walked back to the library together, Angel and the two Watchers following behind.

"What happened, Will? Where did you run into Faith?"

“She was there at the bottom of the ladder, Buffy. I don’t think she knew we were there, and I didn’t tell her you were still up there, but I came down and around the corner and … there she was. I didn’t even have time to scream.”

“You must have been so scared.”

Earlier tonight, Willow would have been afraid to admit it. But now she felt strong, strong enough to admit when she was afraid. “I thought she might kill me. She’s capable, she probably wanted to. Only the Mayor thinking I might be valuable kept her from doing anything to me. But … even then …” Willow shook her head. 

“What?”

“Just …” They were in the library now. Willow draped her coat over Giles’s desk and hopped up to sit on it. Buffy climbed up opposite her. “Let me start at the beginning, okay?”

“Sure.”

“So Faith dragged me up to the conference room, and the Mayor was pissed about his box.”

“Yes, because destroying it would have meant stopping his Ascension,” Wesley snapped.

“It’s done, Wes,” Buffy snapped back. “We’ll find another way.”

“And if there is no other way?”

“We’ll make one. Go on, Will.”

“So the Mayor said, ‘maybe she’ll be useful’, and Faith dragged me off to some storage room full of boxes. She left a vamp outside to guard me and disappeared. I started opening doors, but all I found were office supplies. Paper, pencils, etc.”

“And?” Buffy raised her eyebrows as if to indicate she thought the level of detail was excessive.

“And so I dropped something, and the vamp came in, and he said he wanted to taste me, and he tried … and while he was trying I levitated the pencil and dusted him with it.” Willow couldn’t help smiling at the memory. She was so proud that she had kept her cool and used her powers to some purpose and saved her own life in the process.

“Nice going, Slayer!” Buffy said admiringly.

Giles was looking at Willow worriedly from over Buffy’s shoulder. She knew he was concerned about her ‘dabbling’ as he called it. But surely he had to be glad she had dabbled now—otherwise she’d probably be dead. Or a vampire, and they’d all seen how badly that could turn out.

“Then I went looking for a way out, but I wandered into the Mayor’s office. It was empty, so I stayed to see what I could see. In this hidden cabinet I found these really old books, the Books of Ascension—“

Both Giles and Wesley turned toward her, stunned. “The Books of Ascension?” 

“Yes.”

“In the Mayor’s office? The Books of Ascension?” Giles repeated.

“Uh-huh.” Willow turned back to Buffy. “And while I was in there Faith came in and got up in my face, all Slayer-powery.” She looked at Buffy. “Evil Slayer-powery, I mean.”

“It’s okay. I got what you meant.”

“So Faith was all like ‘I’m gonna beat you up’ and I’m all ‘I’m not afraid of you’ and then she had the knife, which was less fun. And-and then, oh, I told her, ‘You made your choice, Buffy was your friend’, and …”

“Yes, yes,” Giles interrupted. He’d been pacing impatiently this whole time. “This is fascinating, but let’s just get back to the—“ He had his glasses off and was gesturing with them, the way he did when he was particularly agitated. “You actually had your hands on the Books of Ascension.”

Willow nodded. “Volumes 1 through 5.”

“Is there anything that you remember about them that could be of use, anything at all?”

She considered that, drawing it out, enjoying her moment in the limelight. “Well … I was in a hurry, and what I did read was kind of involved. If you ask me, way over-written.”

Behind Giles, Wesley rolled his eyes. Giles’s desperate hope dimmed, and Willow felt bad for messing with him.

“Actually,” she continued, “there were a few pages that were kind of interesting, but I didn’t have a chance to read them fully.”

Wesley was rubbing his forehead as if in pain, and Giles was trying to keep his cool, remembering that she had been a prisoner and nearly gulleted by Faith. He put his glasses back on, trying to pretend that he hadn’t hoped for better … and Willow reached into her coat pocket behind her, withdrew the packet of pages, and handed them to him, grinning.

“See what you can make of ‘em?”

He took them with hesitant fingers, looking up at her with a smile that forgave her for messing with him, turned briefly to Wesley, and then disappeared into his office with the pages, looking like a kid who had just been handed a balloon.

Buffy smiled. “This is your night for suave, Will. You should get captured more often.”

“No, thank you.”

From the other side of the room, Wesley, unmoved by all of it, said, “Well, I hope there’s something useful in those pages. The Mayor has the Box of Gavrock, and as of now, we are right back where we started.” He looked at Buffy, confident in his own superiority for the moment. “Wouldn’t you say?” he added, very quietly.

There was nothing Willow or Buffy could say to that. He was right; they were.


	51. Enough

Hours later, Oz walked Willow home. It was very late—the small dark hours of the middle of the night. Tomorrow was Sunday, and Willow hoped she could get enough sleep so that she could be ready for school again on Monday. It was hard to imagine wanting to sleep, she was still so keyed up from the events of the night. Only Oz’s hand in hers felt real; everything else was too bright, too vivid, as if she was seeing the world around her for the first time.

They snuck into her house, her parents already long asleep. She had to wonder if they had even noticed she wasn’t home, if they had bothered to check. Of course, she was so often out with Buffy that it really didn’t make a lot of sense for her parents to look in on her—and she was about to be a high school graduate, too, so maybe they felt she was old enough not to need checking on.

Maybe she was old enough for other things, too. As Oz hesitated outside the door to her room, she tugged on his hand. “Come in.”

“Are—are you sure?” But he wanted to; he didn’t want to be away from her for a minute. Willow felt a pang, thinking of how worried he must have been, and after the vampire Willow thing, too.

“Yes. I’m sure. I want you here.”

“Will.” He stepped into the room, pulled her into his arms, and nudged the door closed with his foot all in what seemed like a single motion. He held her tightly, his hands buried in her hair, his face pressed against her shoulder. “If she’d hurt you, I—“ His grip tightened even more.

Willow pulled back to look at him. “Oz. I’m all right.”

“I know.”

“And … I’m going to be all right. I know that now. I didn’t before.”

“What do you mean?”

“I dusted a vamp, Oz. With magic. I wasn’t scared. I mean … I was scared, I didn’t want to be eaten, but I was thinking so clearly, knowing just what to do. I lifted the pencil with my mind and got him in just the right spot. And when Faith caught me—I was scared then, too, because she’s crazy and she hates me, but I stayed calm. I was her equal, for the first time.”

“You’ve always been Faith’s equal.” 

Willow shook her head. “No. I’ve always been smarter, but in a situation like that, with the adrenaline flowing and a fight coming … I’ve always been the girl cowering in the shadows, too afraid to step forward and do something about it, too weak and helpless to defend myself. I’ve spent three years hiding behind Buffy. But tonight I wasn’t weak, and I wasn’t helpless, and I didn’t have anyone to hide behind. I stood on my own two feet, and it felt good.”

Oz was still stroking her hair, still looking at her, and as she so often did with his eyes on her, Willow felt as though she had really been seen. “I’m all for the personal growth, but next time can you do it without scaring the daylights out of me?”

She smiled. “I’ll try. Oz?”

“Yeah?”

“I … think I know now. What I want to do.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You know I got into all those colleges and I didn’t know what to do. Where I wanted to go. But now I know—I want to stay here, and work with Buffy, and help her save the world.”

“You don’t want to get away and see new places?”

“No. I mean, I do, but … not as much as I used to. You can’t deny we get a lot of excitement in Sunnydale.”

“That we do.” He smiled.

“What about you?”

“Seems to me I have an acceptance letter to UC Sunnydale kicking around somewhere. And I’ve got the band, and you—I’m good here.”

“So … you’ll stay, too?”

“Right here with you, I promise,” he said huskily, and kissed her, hard.

Somehow they made it across the room to the bed, still kissing, although Willow didn’t see how because her jacket and his overshirt and T-shirt were on the floor by the time they made it. Oz was on top of her, and she was absolutely melting between the heat of his body and the heat of her own and the velvet dress she wore. She drew up one leg, feeling him settle more firmly between her legs, feeling something hard pressing just where she was softest. “Oh,” she sighed, partly in surprise and partly in pleasure. She rubbed against him, the sensations new and exciting.

“Will,” he groaned between clenched teeth. 

With one hand on the back of his neck, she drew his head back down to hers, kissing him. With the other, she pulled the skirt of the dress up as best she could, to reduce the barriers between them. He was still wearing his jeans, and even in the haze she felt, she didn’t think she wanted him to take them off, but she wanted more, the pleasure she felt like nothing she had ever felt before.

Oz said her name again and pulled away, and she heard a lost sad little whimper that must have come from herself. There was almost an ache there between her legs. “I can’t,” he said, “not without … But …” He stretched himself out alongside her, his mouth at her ear, gently nibbling, and she felt his hand sliding up her leg, pushing the velvet skirt up along with it. And then he cupped her, his strong sensitive musician’s fingers drawing a little circle right on that spot that was the most sensitive. Willow cried out, and Oz chuckled and stopped her mouth with his to keep her from waking her parents.

Slowly he massaged her, the fabric of her panties growing wet as he did so. He didn’t move to take them off, and Willow didn’t ask him to. Not right now, not this time. She kissed him back, feeling aches and tension and need all through her body, spiraling in tighter and tighter circles just as his fingers drew smaller and smaller circles right where she wanted them.

And then somehow she was free, the tension bursting and sending her flying through space. 

When she came back to Earth, back to her bed in her house in Sunnydale, her limbs felt leaden, her eyelids drooping with exhaustion. Oz kissed her on the temple, pulling down her skirt and smoothing out the dress and taking off her boots. Somewhere in the process she fell asleep, and when she woke the next day to bright sunshine cascading across her bed, he was gone.


	52. Sunnydale

In school on Monday, Willow looked for Buffy, but she didn’t find her until the end of the day. Buffy was hunched against a tree, looking pensively off into the distance. Thinking about the Mayor’s Ascension, about the lost box … or about what the Mayor had said about her and Angel, more likely, Willow thought. They had been hard things to hear. Harder because they were true. Hardest still because the Mayor himself had lived them, and while he was evil, he was also not wrong.

Willow was almost on top of Buffy before she said anything. Softly, so as not to startle her friend, she said, “Deep thoughts?”

Buffy gave a little smile, coming back from wherever her thoughts had taken her. “Deep and meaningful.”

She knelt down next to her friend. “As in?”

“As in, I’m never getting out of here.” 

That wasn’t one of the things Willow had expected Buffy to be thinking of, but it made sense. First the SAT scores and then the college acceptances and the hope that maybe there was a future elsewhere … and then the Mayor and the reminder that Sunnydale was a Hellmouth and it needed its Slayer. Buffy was right, she probably wasn’t ever getting out of here. It made Willow feel even better about staying. Here was where she was needed. And Buffy did need her; she needed someone at her side. 

Buffy went on, “I kept thinking if I stopped the Mayor, or …” She turned her head to look at Willow, that sad smile on her face again. “But I was kidding myself. There’s always gonna be something. I’m Sunnydale girl. No other choice.”

“Must be tough.” For Willow, it had been a choice. For Buffy, it was a demand. A command. Inescapable. Willow was glad she had the good news. Keeping her face serious and sympathetic, she continued, “I mean, here I am, I can do anything I want.” She glanced at Buffy, really selling it. “I can go to any college in the country. Four or five in Europe if I want.”

“Please tell me you’re going somewhere with this.” To give her credit, Buffy was keeping her smile on, but her patience was short. Willow had played with her enough.

With a perfectly straight face, Willow said, “Nope.” Only then did she allow herself to smile. Reaching into her back pocket, she took out the acceptance letter from UC Sunnydale and laid it on Buffy’s lap. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Buffy read the letter, frowning. “UC Sunnydale?”

Willow smiled more broadly. “I will be matriculating with the class of 2003.”

“Are you serious?”

With a mock frown, Willow asked, “Say, isn’t that where you’re going?”

And then Buffy tackled her, knocking Willow over with a squeal of delight. They rolled on the grass, both giggling. This one moment was worth everything, to know she had lifted Buffy’s burden so completely, even if only briefly.

Buffy sat up, brushing leaves off her jacket. “I can’t believe it. Are you serious?” Then she settled back, looking at Willow intently. “Wait, what am I saying? You can’t.”

Willow sat up, too, pulling a leaf out of her hair. “What do you mean I can’t?”

“I won’t let you.”

Slayer Buffy, always in charge. Willow chuckled. “Of the two people here, which is the boss of me?”

“There are better schools.”

“Sunnydale’s not bad. And-and I can design my own curriculum.”

“Okay, well, there are safer schools,” Buffy pointed out. “There are safer prisons. I can’t let you stay because of me.”

“Actually, this isn’t about you. Although I’m fond, don’t get me wrong, of you, the other night … you know, being captured and all, facing off with Faith, things just kinda … got clear.” She wanted Buffy to understand what had happened to her, how a different Willow had come out of City Hall than the one who had gone in, a Willow who knew who she was and understood that she had strength and value and something to contribute. And Buffy was watching her and listening, really seeing her. “I mean, you’ve been fighting evil here for three years, and I’ve helped some, and now we’re supposed to decide what we want to do with our lives. And I just realized, that’s what I want to do. Fight evil. Help people. I mean, I-I think it’s worth doing. And I don’t think you do it because you have to.” Buffy smiled, recognizing if not the truth of the statement, the affection that lay behind it. “It’s a good fight, Buffy, and I want in.”

Buffy’s smile widened. “I kinda love you.”

Willow giggled, looking down, feeling the truth of what her friend had said, and the emotion behind it. “And besides,” she added, both because it was true and to deflect before they both got too sappy, “I have a shot at being a badass Wicca. And what better place to learn?”

“I feel the need for more sugar than the human body can handle,” Buffy said.

Grinning, Willow said, “Mochas?”

“Yes, please.”

They got up, Willow still holding the letter, and started toward town.

“It’s weird,” Buffy said as they walked along, “you look at something and you think you know exactly what you’re seeing, and-and then you find out it’s something else entirely.”

Willow smiled. “Neat, huh?”

“Sometimes it is.”

And because today was one of the sometimes, neither one of them mentioned how sometimes it wasn’t. This was Sunnydale, after all—it would remind them of that soon enough. No reason to rush through the good times.


	53. Dress

Willow sat cross-legged on the table. She had wanted to spend her free period studying for a chem test—her last chem test, which made her a little sad—but then Buffy had come along, and Xander, and now they were talking about prom. The long-awaited prom, which she was attending with her boyfriend. In many ways, a much more satisfying topic of discussion than her last chem test.

Xander was fidgeting a little bit, and she could tell he was dying to say something, but afraid to. 

Before Willow could speak up, Buffy said, “Xander, out with it. Twitch any more and we’re all going to think you’re a rabbit.”

“It’s just … well, I kind of have a date for the prom.”

“Really?” Willow didn’t want to know who. She and Xander were over, well and truly, but she still … didn’t want to know. “Who is it?”

He looked over Buffy’s head, and they all turned to follow the direction of his gaze to a girl walking alone toward the school. Willow should have known. They all should have known. What was it with Xander and his propensity for evil women and demons?

Oz turned to look up at Xander. “Anya, huh? Interesting choice.”

“Choice is kind of a broad term for my situation. See, it’s either Anya …” He lifted his hand, making a little marionette out of it. “Or the sock puppet of love for this boy.” Looking at his hand, he made the thumb move while he narrated. “’I love you, Xander. I’ll never leave you.’”

Willow couldn’t help it; how many of these disasters did he expect them to sit by and watch? “Well, if Anya tries to get you killed, put me down for a big ‘I told you so.’”

“’Who’s this Anya?’” queried the sock puppet of love. “’Is she prettier than me?’”

Remembering the disaster with the spell and the vampire version of herself and whatever that hell dimension had been that she’d glimpsed, Willow said, “She’d just better not try to cross me. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

“Well, at least we all have somebody to go with now,” Buffy pointed out. “Some of us are going with demons, but I think that’s a valid lifestyle choice.”

Xander and his sock puppet managed a smile at that one, indicating that he wasn’t certain how valid his choice had been, either.

Buffy ignored his lack of enthusiasm, turning back to Willow. “More importantly, I have the kick dress.”

“The pink one?” It had looked really good on Buffy. Everything looked good on Buffy, it was true, but the pink dress had made her look like a modern-day princess.

“Angel’s gonna lose it,” Buffy confirmed. Then, as she realized what she’d said, she paled and hastily corrected herself. “But … not his soul. I mean, he’s gonna lose his … it.” She frowned, and Willow loyally kept silent, not wanting to be the one to point out to Buffy the inherent problems in what she’d said, or the issues that lay ahead for her and Angel. No one wanted to think about what the Mayor had said, Buffy least of all … but he hadn’t been entirely wrong, and Willow dreaded the day when Buffy had to come to terms with that.

After last period, they ended up in the library, researching Ascension stuff, but then Buffy asked Willow how her own dress shopping was coming, and since Willow had yet to find a dress that made her look like a modern-day princess … or like whatever exotic thing she was hoping to look like at prom … it was a compelling conversation starter.

“I did find this one dress I liked. Sort of. Kind of a robin’s egg color, came to about here.” She indicated the spot on her leg.

Buffy frowned, trying to picture it. “So it was blue and sort of short?”

“Not too short. Medium. And it had this weird sort of fringy stuff on its arms.”

Giles came from his office just then, turning in her direction with sudden interest. Willow hadn’t known he cared about the prom. “What, a demon?” he asked, putting to rest any thought that he might.

“A prom dress,” Buffy corrected, “that Will was thinking of getting. Can’t you ever get your mind out of the Hellmouth?”

“I’d be delighted to,” he said, although they all knew that was a lie. “However, the day of the Mayor’s Ascension is fast approaching and we don’t know what to expect.”

“What about the pages Will stole from the Mayor’s book?” Xander asked. “Look, she put her life on the line, there, pal, don’t tell me they’re useless.”

“On the contrary, now we know that the Ascension refers to a human transforming into a demon, becoming the living embodiment and immortal, and Graduation Day our Mayor Wilkins is scheduled to do just that—“

Coming down from the stacks, Wesley broke into Giles’s comment. “The trouble is we don’t know which demon he’s going to become.”

“There are thousands of the species.”

Wesley went on as though Giles hadn’t spoken. “So, it’s safe to say we shouldn’t waste any time on such trifling matters as a school dance.” He put a stack of books down on the table in front of him and sat down. Cordelia sat down next to him, although it was clear she was more interested in the librarian than the library.

As Willow and Buffy exchanged eye-rolls, Cordelia said, “That’s too bad, because I bet you would look way 007 in a tux.”

More eye-rolls exchanged all around. Xander looked as though it still bothered him to have Cordelia around, and Willow was still not sure how she felt about that. Shouldn’t he be over that by now? He should never have started it in the first place, really.

Wesley cleared his throat, looking pleased by Cordelia’s comment. “Except, of course, on the actual night, when I shall be aiding Mr. Giles in his chaperoning duties.”

Giles, in the cage, stopped short and looked at Wesley in surprise. “What? Excuse me?” Then, surrendering to the inevitable, he went back to sorting books. “Fine, fine, fine.”

Ignoring all of them, Buffy said to Willow, “We’ll get you a dress. You know, we should check April Fool’s.”

“Don’t go there,” Cordelia said, looking up from the book she had just opened. When everyone looked at her, she added, “I shop there.”

Of course she did. Occasionally, Willow could forget kindergarten through tenth grade, when Cordelia made her life a living hell … but when she did, Cordelia could always be counted on to remind her.

“I myself am dipping into my hard-earned road trip fund to procure a shiny new tux, so look for me to dazzle,” Xander said.

Giles slapped the book in his hand down on the cart. “And I shall be wearing pink taffeta as chenille will not go with my complexion. Can we please talk about the Ascension?”

“Giles, we get it,” Buffy told him. “Miles to go before we sleep. But especially if we’re all gonna vaporize or something on Graduation Day, we deserve a little prom-y fun.”

Her former Watcher couldn’t argue with that. He rarely argued with Buffy these days, as though he wasn’t certain of his place now that she was getting older and about to graduate. 

“One night of glory, not too much to ask,” Buffy finished.

“And then you’ll get back to work?”

“Promise,” she told him. She looked up at Willow and smiled. “We’ll take a run through the shops later?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” They went back to their books, although Willow couldn’t see that they were getting much out of them.


	54. Angel

Willow had gotten the call from Buffy an hour ago, begging her to come over. It was serious-voice Buffy, too-much-to-handle Buffy, and so Willow had carefully put away the ingredients for the spell she was researching and hurried to her friend’s side.

It had taken a while for Buffy to move around to what was bothering her, always a sign that it cut close to the heart. 

At last, she said, shakily, “So … Angel and I chased a vamp down to the sewers last night.”

“Just another night in Sunnydale.

“No. Not another night. The worst night. Angel—Angel called it quits.”

Willow couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “No, that can’t be right.”

Buffy nodded. “It is. We’re ... we're done.”

“That’s it?”

Looking down at the pillow in her lap, Buffy confirmed it. “That’s it. Assuming we survive this Ascension thing, he’s gonna leave town.”

There was a silence while Willow tried to decide how to respond to that. In many ways it was the right thing, the only thing ... But Buffy had called her—Buffy needed her best friend, and Willow would be that for her today. “Well …” she began, “then he’s a fool. H-he’s just a big, dumb … jerk-person, if you ask me. And he’s a super-maxi jerk for doing it right before the prom.” 

Buffy smiled a little at that. “That’s not his fault. He’s 243 years old—he doesn’t exactly ‘get’ the prom.”

Willow couldn’t argue with that … except that she could, because Buffy had been so excited about it, Angel ought to have known what it meant to her, if not what it meant to teenage girls in the aggregate. “But he should,” she said to Buffy. 

But Buffy cut her off. “Will, it’s okay. You don’t have to make him the bad guy.”

“But that’s the best friend’s job, vilifying and grousing.”

“Usually, yeah. But he’s right.” Buffy looked up, and Willow could see what it was costing her to try to understand, and try to look ahead to something other than the life with Angel she wanted so desperately. “I mean, I think … maybe, in the long run, that he’s right.”

Willow was proud of her friend. She was fighting it, she didn’t want to admit it, but she was facing it—and for Buffy, facing the loss of Angel was harder than facing a room full of demons. “Yeah,” Willow admitted. “I think he is. I mean, I tried to hope for the best, but … I’m sorry.”

Buffy nodded, unable to speak, the tears she had so valiantly been trying to hold back overtaking her.

“It must be horrible,” Willow added. She could only imagine how she would fall apart if Oz left, regardless of his reasons.

“I think ‘horrible’ is still coming,” Buffy said, forcing a smile, fighting the tears back again. “Right now it’s worse.” The dam broke, her face crumpling, and she sagged forward into Willow’s lap. “Right now I’m just trying to keep from dying.”

“Oh, Buffy.” Willow had no doubt that to her friend, it felt just that way. Unable to fix the situation or offer Buffy any real comfort, she did the best thing she could—she held Buffy and stroked her hair and let her cry.

“I can’t breathe, Will,” Buffy sobbed. “I feel like I can’t breathe.”

And so Willow held her until the crying ebbed and she could breathe again, at least a little.


	55. Hell-hound

With the others, Willow watched the tape from the dress shop, the strange beast leaping for the boy in the tuxedo and mauling it. Just what Sunnydale needed right before the prom, some kind of weird creature on the loose.

Giles frowned at the screen. “You say the creature just … stopped?”

“Yeah.” Xander pointed, getting to his feet to make sure they could all see what he saw. “Right there.” They watched as the creature got off the boy and ran away. “See, it’s like he just realized he forgot to put money in the meter or something.” 

“You know the part that totally weirded me out?” Cordelia asked. “That thing had good taste.”

Willow rolled her eyes. Of course that would be the part Cordy would get stuck on.

“I mean, he chucked Xander and went right for the formal wear,” Cordelia continued.

“That’s right. He left behind his copy of _Monsters Wear Daily_.”

It was nice now that Xander was snarking at Cordelia again, instead of having his tongue down her throat. Willow did her best to keep that sentiment to herself, for many reasons, but she couldn’t help feeling it anyway. After spending all of grade school being able to count on Xander against Cordelia, it had been disconcerting to have him suddenly on her side and not on Willow’s.

“I’m serious,” Cordelia snapped. “Look at the outfit that Xander’s wearing. Now look at the kid that the monster went after. Very smooth lines … ‘til he was shredded.”

Xander moved to rewind the tape. Buffy got to her feet, walking away from the group and the TV. “I don’t want to see it again.”

“Buffy … um …” Giles fumbled for words, surprised that this should send her over the edge. “It is horrible, but … if you’re going to hunt this creature, you should study it.”

“Think I got it,” she said. Willow could hear the pain still in her best friend’s voice; she was surprised Giles couldn’t.

“She’s right,” Willow said loyally. “I mean, you’ve seen one big hairy bringer of death, you’ve seen them all.”

Naturally, Wesley felt the need to correct her. “Not really. If I’m not mistaken, this is a hell-hound.”

Giles got to his feet, his eyes fixed on the screen. “Yes. It’s particularly vicious. It’s a sort of a … demon foot soldier bred during the Makhash wars. Trained solely to kill, they feed off the brains of their foes.”

“Look!” Cordelia shouted into the silence that followed his words. “Right there. Zoom in on that.”

“It’s a videotape,” Xander reminded her.

“So? They do it on television all the time.”

“Not with a regular VCR, they don’t.”

“Perhaps we could stay on the topic for once?” Wesley asked plaintively, and Xander and Cordelia looked away from each other as Cordelia sank back into her seat. As she did so, Wesley continued, “What, uh, were you doing with Xander?”

Willow rolled her eyes again. What did all these men see in this shallow twit, anyway?

“What?” Cordelia asked, startled by the question and sounding as though she didn’t want to answer it. Willow felt a stab of jealousy and panic. They weren’t starting that up again, were they? Looking at Xander, Cordelia said, “Um … I was …”

“Burning a hole in Daddy’s wallet as usual,” Xander jumped in. Something wasn’t right there. The words sounded normal, but they were acting strange. Willow tried to remind herself that she did _not_ care. “I just bumped into her in my tuxedo hunt,” Xander continued.

“What’s that?” Oz asked, and Willow was grateful to him for keeping them on topic. “Pause it?”

“Guys, it’s just a normal VCR!” Xander snapped, holding up the remote so they could see. Then he looked at it again himself. “It doesn’t … Oh, wait, it can do pause.” He turned back to the TV and hit the button, and they all looked at the kid in the background. “Hello, hell-hound raiser.”

“I know that kid.” Oz got up to grab a yearbook, flipping through to the picture. “Tucker Wells. He was in my chem lab.”

“Let me guess,” Wesley said. “He was quiet, kept to himself, but always seemed like a nice young man.”

“Well, he didn’t seem the murderous type, anyway. Something must have happened to him.”

Xander went by the table, carrying an armload of books. He was the first person to approach the stairs where Buffy had taken up residence since she’d walked away from the TV. “How’s it goin’ over there, Buff?”

She didn’t look up from the book in her lap. “Fine.” Still fragile voice. Willow hoped her friend would be able to pull it together, or the Mayor really would win. She sympathized with Buffy—and she could have choked Angel, if choking him would have done any good—but they didn’t have time for the Slayer to fall apart.

Xander wasn’t taking ‘fine’ for an answer. “Well, I just wanted to say that your impersonation of an inanimate object is really comin’ along.”

“Thanks.”

Xander gave up, at least for the moment, and walked away. 

Willow managed to find Tucker’s password and get into his email. Giles got up and came to look over her shoulder, but Buffy barely even glanced in her direction. 

“Listen to this message Tucker sent to this kid David Metz at school last week. ‘The Sunnydale High lemmings have no idea what awaits them. Their big night will be their last night.’”

“So, we have a threat against the students on their big night,” Giles said slowly, “a hell-hound trained to attack people formal wear …”

“Oh, are we all catching up now?” Cordelia asked.

“This Tucker is planning to attack the prom tonight.”

“Once again the Hellmouth puts the special in ‘special occasion’,” Oz observed.

Xander exclaimed dramatically, “Why do I even buy tickets for these things, I ask you?”

Willow sighed. “I wonder if I can take my dress back?” 

“Don’t you dare.” They all turned to stare at Buffy, who hadn’t moved from the stairs. 

“But Tucker’s gonna—“

At last, Buffy got to her feet. “No. You guys are gonna have a prom. The kind of prom that everyone should have. I’m gonna give you all a nice, fun, normal evening—if I have to kill every single person on the face of the earth to do it.”

Willow was glad to see Buffy’s protective spirit had been awakened … but she wasn’t sure if Buffy was in quite the right mood for this. Tucker was just a kid, after all. 

Xander tried to look enthusiastic, but the final threat had been a bit much for him. “Yay?”

But Buffy was on a roll, now, and no one was getting in the way of the Slayer at work. “Okay, Wes, why don’t you go to Tucker’s house? He’s probably not there, but it’s worth a shot.”

“All right.” He glanced at Cordelia and then pretended he hadn’t. “Perhaps strength in numbers would be a ...”

“You can take Cordy.”

“If that’s your plan, all right, all right.” His show of reluctance was no more convincing. “What about the others?”

“Oz, you said you know this David kid that Tucker emailed? Why don’t you and Will track him down. See what he knows, if he’s involved.”

“We’re on it.”

As Wesley and Cordelia were on their way out, Buffy turned to them, “And you know what, could you two check the magic shop?”

“Magic shop?” Wesley repeated.

“Yeah, it’s right next to the dress store on Main.”

“I can swing that one,” Xander volunteered. “What’s the mission?”

“See if anyone’s been in buying supplies to raise a hell-hound.”

“Gotcha. Or check and see who’s been stocking up on hell-hound snausages. I hear those pups will do anything for a tasty treat.”

And they all headed off, leaving Buffy to whatever part of the plan she had kept for herself. Willow hoped her friend would find work therapeutic … and that she wouldn’t run into Angel in the process.


	56. Zeroes

They struck out. No luck from anyone tracking down Tucker or finding out what his plans were for the hell-hounds. Oz and Willow and Xander sank glumly onto the stairs in the library.

“I guess I’ll take back my dress,” Willow said.

“No need to pick up my tux,” Xander agreed. “Or my date. Actually, that’s not the worst news I’ve ever heard.”

“No one forced you to say yes when she asked you.”

“Oh, contraire. My own sense of the rightness of things, that forced me.”

“’The rightness of things’?” Oz echoed. “Interesting.”

“What, that my sense of rightness includes me going to prom with Anya, or that it doesn’t include going to prom alone?”

Oz gave an eloquent shrug that suggested either would be along the lines of what he’d been thinking.

They were still sitting there when Buffy burst through the doors.

“Zeroes all around, Buff,” Xander told her.

“Sorry,” Willow added.

But Buffy was undaunted. “Make not with the long faces.” She pulled a piece of paper out of the pocket of her coat. “I got the address.”

Willow wasn’t sure why they were all so surprised—she was Buffy, after all. She got things done, found things out, took care of the stuff that went wrong. But she’d been down-in-the-dumps Buffy since Angel’s announcement, and maybe they’d thought she was off her game. Clearly, they’d been wrong.

“Now,” Buffy continued, “prom starts in a little while. I want you guys to go on and I will catch up with you as soon as I put a lid on this jerk.”

They were still surprised. Again, why should they be? Buffy liked to work alone. Buffy liked to take things on herself. But in this case, she really shouldn’t—and she didn’t have to.

Xander expressed it for Willow, a dumbfounded “What? No way.”

“We can’t just leave you, Buff,” Willow agreed.

“Buffy, they’re right,” Giles added quietly, in his paternal Watcher voice. “You need—“

But Buffy was having none of it. “To see taillights,” she said determinedly. “Hit the door. I have everything under control.”

Even Oz wasn’t comfortable with this. He shifted on the step and said, “Buffy, it makes sense to—“

She didn’t let him finish, either, her voice measured and certain. “Have. A nice. Time.”

They looked at her, and she looked at them, and then as one they decided it wasn’t worth the continued argument.

“Okay, then.” Willow got to her feet, both the guys following her, and they headed out, sure that Buffy had it under control. Willow was privately sure that Buffy needed this—that if there hadn’t been some idiot trying to attack prom, she would have found some other way to get her Angel- and prom-related aggressions out. She crossed her fingers that Tucker would prove to be just enough for Buffy to deal with, and that Buffy wouldn’t make him a substitute for her anger at Angel.

And then she was lost in the hectic hours before prom, changing and dressing and wondering what Oz would say, and think, and do, when he saw her in her dress.


	57. Prom

Willow’s mother was deep in the midst of a galley proof when Willow came through the kitchen in her prom dress. She glanced up and muttered something about not thinking Willow should wander around the house in her nightgown and then went right back to it. It was, frankly, a relief to Willow not to have the fake fuss over her on the way to the prom that she had been dreading. This was the way things were, the way things had always been, and she would rather meet Oz on her own.

Her heart pounded as she let herself out the door. For once in her life, she felt … beautiful. Grown up. Confident. Maybe even a little bit sexy. And knowing Oz saw her as all those things was even better. Sometimes she found it hard to live up to the Willow she knew he saw when he looked at her—but not tonight.

And his eyes, warm with admiration and passion and something beyond affection, said she had lived up to those expectations, which made her feel all the better.

She took his arm, and they walked to the school together.

“I could have picked you up in the van.”

“And that would have been nice, too,” she agreed, “but I like this. It’s such a nice night.” She looked up at the stars and sighed happily … then immediately felt a pang of guilt, thinking of Buffy.

Oz smiled, holding her arm a little closer to his body. “Buffy’ll get it done. She always does.”

“True.” Willow couldn’t help wondering, worrying, just a little, about what would happen on the day when, inevitably, Buffy didn’t get it done. But that wasn’t tonight. She felt like Oz did, that Buffy was on the warpath and nothing was going to stop her.

Still, much as she believed in Buffy, it was a relief to get into the gym and see the party going in full swing. “Maybe we should dance before we get besieged, bedeviled, or beheaded, or something.” What did people at normal schools worry about at prom? Tripping on their dresses? Tonight, Willow thought that sounded very boring. She was already effervescent on the music and the dress and the tuxedoed man at her side and felt as though she could take on the world. Just like Buffy.

“It’s not gonna happen,” Oz told her.

“You’re not even a little nervous?”

“You think Buffy’s gonna let us down?”

Willow steered him toward the punch bowl instead of the dance floor. No, Buffy wouldn’t let them down, but it was just as well to face the potential of a demon hound attack with a whole lot of sugar in her veins.

She had managed to drag Oz onto the dance floor—or he had dragged her, she wasn’t sure which—by the time Buffy arrived, her dress simple but beautiful, her smile radiant. No question but that she had saved the day, or, rather, the night. 

“Buffy, you look awesome.” Willow reached for her, and they hugged. The music and the beatdown of the hellhounds seemed to have lit Buffy up, which was a relief—Willow had been worried about the effect the lack of Angel would have on her friend.

“So do you,” Buffy replied.

Oz waited until they were done hugging before asking, “Everything cool?”

“Coolest,” Buffy affirmed. “Devil dogs are history. How’s the prom?”

“Strangely affecting. I got all teared up when they played ‘We Are Family’.”

He had, too, which Willow had found odd but adorable. “Everything’s perfect,” she told Buffy, and for once, it really was.

It was the icing on the cake when Jonathan read out the Prom Committee’s letter to Buffy, and gave her the Class Protector award. Willow knew better than anyone how much it had hurt Buffy over the years that no one seemed to know what she had done for them, how much of herself she had given to the fight, and what it meant to be acknowledged. Her pride in her friend filled the cup of her happiness nearly to overflowing.

As the end of the prom approached, it was hard to begin to come down from the high. It had truly been a magical night, everything a prom was supposed to be. Friends and love and fun and dancing and feeling beautiful. Willow swayed in Oz’s arms, her head on his shoulder, for once happy to let the thoughts in her head be silenced and simply enjoy the moment.

Then, over Oz’s shoulder, she saw the last piece of decoration on the cake: Angel had showed up, at the last minute, to be there where Buffy needed him. That it was probably the last time didn’t matter—not right this second. Tomorrow, or even later tonight, it might, but for now Buffy would have this last dance, this last moment of high school where she was just a girl dancing with the man she loved.

Willow closed her eyes, letting the music move through her, one hand idly caressing the back of Oz’s neck, and for the space of a song she, too, allowed herself to believe that this magical night was the way it would always be.


	58. Love

They were among the last stragglers at the prom, kicking around discarded bits of streamers and half-deflated balloons, swaying to one last song. Willow’s effervescence had faded to a contented cocoon that she was happy to float in for as long as she could, knowing as she did that when it was over, it was back to the world, where things tried to kill her on a regular basis and she was about to leave the familiarity of school and go on to new things. Not that she didn’t look forward to the new things, but … they would be a challenge, and now, dancing with Oz, his fingers in her hair and his voice humming in her ear along with the song, this was just—right. 

Cordelia had gone home earlier, much to Wesley’s dismay, and Giles had taken the other Watcher’s disappointment as his own chance to disappear, leaving Wesley to watch over the end of prom. Currently, Wes was leaning against a wall, trying not to look as though he was about to fall asleep. Xander had left with Anya, as well, casting a forlorn glance over his shoulder. Willow imagined they would see him later somewhere—there had been plans to catch up after prom and snark out over the evening. But Willow didn’t feel snarky, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to spend the rest of such a magical night listening to Xander whine about his date.

Buffy and Angel were still dancing, as well, eking out as much joy from the night as they could. Under other circumstances, Willow might have worried about that moment of happiness and the soul thing, but there was torment there, as well, neither of them able to forget the truth that what they had together could never truly be.

Willow shivered and pressed closer against Oz.

“You all right?” he asked, his breath against her ear making her shiver again, but for a different reason.

“Yeah.” She suddenly didn’t want to stay here, the pleasure leaching out of the night as she thought about her best friend’s heartbreak. Call her selfish, but Willow wanted tonight to be all her own. “Let’s go, okay?”

“Yeah? You ready? I thought you were kind of digging the prom vibe.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but prom’s kind of over.”

He looked around. “Huh.”

Willow was filled with warmth at the idea that he’d been so fulfilled by dancing with her that he hadn’t noticed everyone else had left. “This was nice.”

“Very.” He glanced at her as she picked up her shawl from the table where she’d left it. “You want to tell Buffy you’re leaving?”

“No. Leave her be.”

Oz nodded, and they left, hand in hand. Outside in the warm California night she took off her shoes, carrying them and her shawl in one hand while Oz held the other. 

“Finally, one high school thing that went like it was supposed to,” she said.

“I know. Kind of hard to believe, really. So very un-Sunnydale.”

“Thanks to our protector.”

He smiled. “She saved the day.”

“I’m glad she got her prize.”

“Angel.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s good that he showed,” Oz agreed. “She deserved it.”

“He loves her, even if he can’t be with her.” Willow looked up at Oz, studying his face. She loved him, she realized with a sense of wonder. Like, really loved him. It was a strange thought, because she wasn’t used to thinking of herself as someone … real enough to be in love. But she was graduating, going out into the world, and that meant she was ready to be real. “Oz?”

He stopped walking, turning to look at her.

“I … I love you. Did you—did you know that?”

His sweet smile spread across his face, the one that said she had truly touched him to the heart. “Yeah. I knew.” He reached around, his hand cupping the back of her neck, drawing her toward him. “I love you, too. You knew that, didn’t you?”

She’d never thought of it, but it occurred to her now that she did. “Uh-huh. But it’s good to hear it.”

“I’ll be sure to tell you again.”

“Please do.” 

They smiled at each other, standing there on the sidewalk in the dark of night after their prom. Willow had wondered how they would handle the after-prom, if she would know what she wanted and what she was ready for. It had never occurred to her that this would be the intimacy they would share, but it felt right, and she didn’t need more. What was even better was her certainty that Oz didn’t need more, either.

They kept walking, hand in hand, neither ready for the night to end.


	59. Efficiency

Willow was giddy with the thrill of graduating, ending her time at Sunnydale High—and a little bit with the smell of the shiny pages of the yearbook she was carrying, and a little bit more with the smell of the markers and pens people were using to sign each other’s yearbooks. People she’d never met before, to her recollection, were rushing up to her asking her to sign, and she was asking them to sign hers. Some part of her that wasn’t caught up in it all wondered if years from now she would flip through these pages and ask herself what all the fuss had been about … but she wasn’t there yet.

She handed a yearbook back to a boy she thought might have been in her English class freshman year, waving at him as he walked away. “Bye! We’ll keep in touch.” Hard to do since she didn’t know his name, but that didn’t matter.

Harmony came down the stairs, calling her name, holding out her yearbook, and Willow even felt nostalgic for the nausea that overcame her at the sight of Harmony’s vapid face. “Will you sign my yearbook?” Harmony asked.

“Yeah! You have to sign mine, too.” That detached part of Willow’s brain wanted to sign “Thanks for a decade of misery”, but she went with “Good luck in the future” instead. 

They beamed awkwardly at one another while they signed.

“You know,” Harmony said, “I really wish we would’ve got to know each other better.”

_As if_ , the detached brain said, but out of Willow’s mouth came a wistful, “Me, too.”

“You’re so smart! I always wanted to be like that.” Harmony enthused. 

Willow was touched and pleased by the compliment despite the part of her brain that wasn’t high on graduation. “Thanks! You’re so sweet.”

They finished signing and exchanged books as Harmony said, “I hope we don’t lose touch.”

“We’ll hang out,” Willow promised, waving as Harmony walked off toward the next person with a yearbook in their hands. “Bye!” Buffy came up alongside Willow, and, still beaming, Willow said, “I’m gonna miss her.”

“Don’t you hate her?”

“Yes, with a fiery vengeance. She picked on me for ten years.” The words were right, but the tone was still that cheery, syrupy, ‘I’m graduating’ tone that Willow couldn't seem to shake. “Vacuous tramp.” She turned to Buffy, reality asserting itself for a moment. “It’s like a sickness, Buffy. I-I’m just missing everything. I miss PE.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I think it’s contagious. The whole senior class has turned into the ‘60s, or what I would have imagined the ‘60s would have been like, without the war and the hairy armpits.”

Digging into her bag for some coins for the soda machine, Willow asked, “You don’t feel it?”

Shrugging, Buffy said, “No, I don’t. I mean … I guess I’ll miss stuff, but … I just don’t get the whole graduation thing. You get a piece of paper, and nothing changes. I don’t even think I’m gonna go.”

Willow hit the button and reached down for her can of soda, sighing in happiness when the machine dropped the usual wrong can. “Oh, trusty soda machine. I push you for root beer, you give me Coke.” She took the can of Coke, patting the machine affectionately before joining Buffy at the table nearby. “What do you mean, ‘not go’?” she asked. “Why not?”

“Ascension? Mayor becoming a demon and snacking upon the populace? I was planning on fighting him.”

“You can’t do both?”

As Willow popped the tab on her can of Coke, Xander joined them, grabbing the remaining chair at the table. “Both what?”

“Go to graduation and fight the Mayor.”

“The Mayor?” Xander asked. “What, you guys didn’t hear?”

“Hear what?”

“Guess who our commencement speaker is.”

“Siegfried?” Willow asked.

“No.”

“Roy?”

“No.”

“One of the tigers?”

“Come out of the fantasy, Will.”

She frowned at him, as if it was his fault their commencement speaker was going to be a dull politician who wanted to be a demon.

“I don’t believe this,” Buffy groaned. 

Xander raised his eyebrows. “Lends credence to my whole ‘I’m gonna die’ theorem, doesn’t it?”

“The Mayor at graduation? A hundred helpless kids to feed on. Got any other surprises for us?”

“Just the joy of my presence, which is always a delightful surprise.”

Buffy mustered up an attempt at a smile for Xander.

“Look on the bright side, Buff—at least now you don’t have to decide which one to do. You can do both at once! Efficiency,” Willow offered cheerfully.

“Yeah. Efficiency. Yay.” But Buffy looked if anything less cheerful than she had before.


	60. Scholar

Willow rode her bike through the school’s halls and walkways, the outdoor ones, anyway, feeling perfectly content. Normally, she avoided the bike, feeling uncomfortable getting in the way of other students, but she was a graduating senior now. She felt she had earned the right.

As she was pulling up to a bike rack, Percy came up to her. “Hey, Rosenberg!”

“Hey, Percy.”

“Check it out.” He held up a paper on top of a pile of folders. “History final.”

Willow beamed at him. “B-? That’s great!” Of all the things she had accomplished this year, teaching Percy that he had a brain and was capable of using it was surprisingly high up on the list. Especially after that horrible meeting in Principal Snyder’s office. Every time Percy did his own work, Willow felt it was a personal victory.

“I’m a scholar. I’m like a scholar!” He sounded so proud of himself, and Willow allowed herself a moment to imagine what he might be able to do with himself going forward. Graduate college, get a good job … the possibilities were finite, but they existed, which was something.

“Congratulations.” She knelt to lock her bike to the rack. 

Percy knelt, too. “Hey, listen. Thank you. I mean, for helping me, being so patient. And, also, for not kicking my ass like you did in the Bronze.”

Willow had felt guilty for letting him believe that was really her ever since it had happened. Maybe it was time to clear that up, she thought. “You know, Percy, that was actually—“ But then she caught his eye. She kind of liked the scary, powerful Willow she saw there, and being no fool, she knew perfectly well that he had responded better to the force the vampire version of herself had used than to any of the other motivational tricks the real Willow had tried on him. Far better to let him go on thinking that had really been her—maybe it would help him continue to want to be a scholar, she told herself. “For your own good,” she finished, clicking the lock on the bike closed.

They both stood up as Percy said sheepishly, “I know. I know.”

And then Oz was there, looking at her the way Oz did. If she could always see herself the way these two men saw her—albeit one of them under false pretenses—she would never have to wonder about herself again.

“Hey,” she said to Oz, loving the automatic way his arm went around her. Turning back to Percy, she told him, “History’s important, you know.”

“No, I totally get that now,” he agreed. He held out the paper, grinning. “And I got the grades, and I’m graduating tomorrow, and I can forget all this crap.”

Even though she should have expected things would end up that way, Willow still felt crestfallen as Percy walked off. She’d had such high hopes for him.

Oz took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Well, on the bright side, after graduation he may not have the chance to forget it all.” 

He had been trying to make light of the situation, she knew, but it was the wrong thing to say. For a moment there, she’d almost forgotten about the Mayor and had believed in the future. Now it all came rushing back. She couldn’t even try to respond to his attempt at a joke with any kind of sense of humor.

Shaking her hand a little, affectionately, when she didn't respond, he said, “I’m just tryin’ to keep things light.”

“But things aren’t light! I mean, it’s bad enough we have to fight the Mayor. I don’t want him eating Percy and the whole class. We have to find a spell or something to stop the Ascension.”

He looked at her, seeing her worries, and said softly, “Then we will,” as if saying so made it so. And for the moment, she let herself believe him.


	61. Library

Willow and Oz came into the library expecting the usual round of research into the Ascension, and were surprised to find Giles, Wesley, and Buffy all clustered around Anya, of all people, listening to her intently, with Xander sitting next to her all serious and end-of-the-worldy.

Well, Willow was surprised. It was hard to tell if Oz really thought anything about it at all. But then, he hadn’t been the victim of his own self drawn from a hell dimension by Anya, so he didn’t have as much reason to be suspicious of her as Willow did.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked.

Before Willow could stop herself, she said, “How come evil girl’s in the mix?”

It was an indicator of how serious the situation was that no one responded to that. Except for Giles, who had his glasses dangling from one hand the way he did when he was extra worried. He gestured to Anya with them. “Anya … witnessed an Ascension.”

Oh. Well, that made sense. Willow didn’t like it, but it made sense. She waited a beat, to allow the fact that she didn’t like it to be completely clear, then said, “Okay, then.”

Buffy hadn’t even glanced in Willow’s direction, her focus totally on Anya. Serious Slayer face and all. “What about the spiders? The Mayor had a box of spiders that he had to eat. The box of—“ She stopped, her face twisting as she tried to remember the name. The names of things was never Buffy’s strong suit. Looking at Giles, she tried, “I want to say, the box of Gravlox?”

The glance Giles gave her was filled with years of long-suffering patience. “Gavrock.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Anya said.

“Well, there must be something you can remember that would be helpful.”

Before Anya could respond, another voice came unexpectedly from the door, and they all turned to look as the Mayor walked into the room toward them, running a hand along the top of the circulation desk.

Everyone who had been sitting stood up, and Oz and Willow shrank back amongst the others, Oz stepping protectively in front of Willow as they did.

“So, this is the inner sanctum.” The Mayor glanced at his hand with a faint frown and then rubbed his hands together as though the circulation desk had had dust on it. Which it most certainly did not, Willow thought indignantly. “Faith tells me this is where you folks like to hang out,” he continued. “Concoct your little schemes. I tell you, you know, it’s just nice to see that some young people are still interested in reading in this modern era.” He gave an attempt at a smile, but no one moved or spoke in response to his little sally. “So, what are kids reading nowadays?” He came toward the table and picked up a book, leafing through it. “’The Beast will walk upon the earth, and darkness will follow. The several races of man will be as one in terror and destruction.’ Oh, that’s kind of sweet. Different races coming together.” He was smiling as he looked back at the page.

“You never get even a little tired of hearing yourself speak, do you?” Buffy asked.

The Mayor smiled at her, laughing under his breath, as though he found her charming and entertaining. Putting the book back down in front of Giles, he said softly, “That’s one spunky little girl you’ve raised.” He stepped back and looked straight at Buffy, the smile fading from his face. For a moment, he looked like exactly the kind of man who wanted to be a demon. “I’m gonna eat her.”

Without a word or an instant of hesitation, Giles picked up the fencing foil that lay on the table and rammed it into the Mayor’s heart.

They all watched in horrified, fascinated silence as Mayor Wilkins staggered backward, clutching the blade and groaning. Then he looked at Giles in exasperation, the foil still sticking out of his chest. “Whoa! Well, now, that was a little thoughtless.” He pulled out the foil. “Violent outbursts like that, in front of the children? You know, Mr. Giles,” he said, pointing the foil in Giles’s direction, “they look to you to see how to behave.”

“Get out,” Buffy said, very softly, meaning it. 

The Mayor took out a handkerchief, starched and white, and cleaned off the blade of the foil with it, his eyes on Buffy’s face. In a voice as soft and as deadly as Buffy’s had been, he said, “I smell fear. That’s smart.” He put the handkerchief back in the inside pocket of his jacket and added, in his normal voice, “Some of your deaths will be quick … if that’s worth anything.” He smiled and tossed the foil at Giles, who caught it equally deftly. “Well, see you all at graduation. You don’t want to miss my commencement address. It’s gonna be one heck of a speech.”

And then he was gone, leaving them all standing there, staring after him. If anyone had had any doubts about the dangers ahead, they didn’t any longer.


	62. Panicking

Oz clicked through another site, hoping this one might have an answer—any answer. This Mayor thing, this Ascension thing, was a lot. More even than being a werewolf. And he wanted to be of help, didn’t want to leave this all to Buffy to deal with … but he wasn’t sure what there was that he could do, not when nothing on the internet told him anything anything they could use.

Willow was lying on her bed with books strewn in front of her. She shut one with a heavy sigh. “This is so frustrating.”

Swinging the chair around, Oz looked over at her as she opened another book. “Nothing useful?” it wasn’t surprising. Between the two of them and the Watchers and Buffy and Angel and Xander and Cordelia, they had probably skimmed every book at least once. Not that they couldn’t have missed something—but the odds were small.

“No, it’s great … if we wanna make ferns invisible or communicate with shrimp, I’ve got the goods right here.” Her voice trailed off as she stared into the book.

Oz had to wonder if anyone else in the country was sitting in a room studying ancient books to learn how to make ferns invisible. A gardener, maybe. But communicating with shrimp? Maybe if you were a chef, but even at that, it seemed like a spell of limited usefulness. “Our lives are different than other people’s,” he observed.

Willow sighed. “Who am I kidding? I’m not gonna find a spell to stop the Ascension. I’m no witch.” She gestured at the Amy rat in her cage. “I can’t even change poor Amy back to a person.”

He hated to see Willow upset, or worse, doubting herself. He’d never met anyone smarter or more talented—if she couldn’t help with this, it wasn’t for lack of ability, he was sure of it. To cheer her up, he said, “You’ve got the swingin’ habitrail goin’. I think Amy’s in a good place emotionally.”

That it had been the wrong tactic was obvious immediately when Willow rolled off her stomach and sat up to look at him reproachfully. “Oz!”

“What?”

“Could you just … pretend to care about what’s happening? Please?”

He was surprised; he knew he was stoic, but he had thought Willow had learned to read him better than that. “You think I don’t care?”

“I think we could be dead in two days’ time and you’re being Ironic Detachment Guy.”

She wasn’t wrong. Ironic detachment was where he went when things were big, and serious, and beyond his control. It was how he had weathered turning into a werewolf. But he was seeing that Willow needed something more. She was upset beyond anything he had ever seen in her, and scared, certain of the potential for catastrophe and uncertain how to fight it. “Would it help if I panicked?” he asked her.

Her answer was immediate and heartfelt. “Yes! It-it would be swell. Panic is a thing people can share in times of crisis and everything’s really scary now, you know? And I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

As she continued he was half-listening, and half-watching her, loving the play of emotion on her face, the depth of what she felt so open. She was beautiful in a completely unique way; there was no one in the world like her. Could he bear to think of losing her in two days? Could he put aside his ironic detachment long enough to consider what it would be like to have to watch her die?

“And-and-and,” Willow continued, “there’s all sorts of things that you’re supposed get to do after high school and I was really looking forward to doing them—“

It occurred to Oz then that that was what he could do for her. That they had waited all this time until it was something they both needed, and what did they both need right now more than the ultimate celebration of what it meant to be alive?

“And now we’re probably just gonna die and I’d like—“

He launched himself off the chair without another thought, taking her face in his hands and kissing her, long and deeply. He had never kissed her like this, kissed her as a beginning, with the intention of seeing it through to the end. He tried to tell her in the kiss everything he was feeling, the fear and the longing and the love, to taste her so thoroughly that he could never forget what this was like, no matter how many pieces he was blown into in two days. Willow was startled for a moment, then kissed him back with an equal fervor, both of them lost in the simple but consuming connection between them.

Oz pulled back to look at her, so beautiful with her eyes still closed, her face softened and smooth, the worry lines replaced by a different focus.

“What are you doing?” she asked, opening her eyes to look at him.

“Panicking?” He left it a question, so that if this wasn’t what she wanted, she could say so. 

Her eyes closed again without another word, and they were kissing again, hands in each other’s hair. Oz stretched them both out across the bed, settling himself comfortably on top of her, taking his time kissing her, both of them heedless of her pile of books crashing to the floor. He wanted this to last, wanted it to be … everything.

They kissed for a long time before their hands began to wander. Willow’s found their way under his shirt, pushing impatiently at it to get it out of her way, and Oz lifted his torso long enough to let her pull it off of him. Her mouth boldly worked its way down the side of his neck and across his chest and he drew in his breath with a sharp hiss when her tongue flickered briefly across his nipple. She must have heard him, because she did it again, tentatively, waiting for his reaction, her slender fingers nervously caressing his stomach.

“Willow,” he whispered, arching his back into her touch. It was as much as he could do to let her explore, let her touch and taste and not hold back his responses even while he was fighting the impulse to take charge.

She sat back abruptly and stripped off her shirt and T-shirt and bra, and Oz was unable to keep from touching, her breasts white and soft there in front of him. He took a nipple gently in his mouth, rolling his tongue around it, loving the way she shivered and moaned. Taking both breasts in his hands, kneading them lightly, he looked up at her. Willow’s head was thrown back, her eyes closed, and her hips were moving restlessly, pressing herself against him as she straddled his lap. He returned his mouth to her breast and let his hands roam down the satiny skin of her back and over her skirt to her legs, covered in tights but still firm and smooth under his hands. He caressed her there, moving up under the skirt until one palm was firmly pressed against her, feeling the heat of her there, the way the seat of the tights was already damp. He couldn’t help a groan at the feeling of it, and Willow groaned, too, pressing herself down against his hand.

“Willow, if you don’t—Tell me now,” he said, pushing the words out. God, he didn’t want to stop.

For answer, she got up, kicking off her shoes and stripping the rest of her clothes down off her legs. She got a bit tangled in the tights, but then stood in front of him fully nude for the first time—excited, and nervous, and a bit defiant, as if someone somewhere had told her not to and she was doing it anyway.

He heard a sound, a small, greedy, needy sound, come from his own throat at the sight of her, and he reached for her, but she stepped back, looking pointedly at his own pants. He loved that about her, that out of the blue she could gain so much confidence and sureness. Lifting his hips, he shoved everything down over his groin and down his legs and kicked the pants and his shoes off together. Then he reached for her again. “Come here.”

She did, stretching out with him, the feeling of bare skin against bare skin almost more pleasure than Oz could stand. Gently he nudged her legs apart, knowing she would need a lot of preparation if this wasn’t going to hurt her first time, and he explored her as carefully as he could, watching her face and feeling the changes in her body against his as he found the things she liked and the things that weren’t comfortable for her.

Willow’s legs spread wider and wider, her eyes tightly closed as she gave herself over to the sensations he was awakening in her. At last she opened them, looking at him, her face pleading. “Oz, I want—I want—“

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes.”

At this last moment, he hesitated, holding himself away from her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You couldn’t,” she assured him, pulling his mouth down for a kiss. And while he was kissing her, between them they guided him inside, the heat of her surrounding him. He pushed forward slowly, hesitantly, wincing when he heard her little cry of pain, holding still while she got used to having him there.

It took all his self-control to move gently, letting her get comfortable, letting her learn how to shift her legs and intensify the feelings. Her cries and little gasps of surprise and pleasure were music to his ears—if only he could play that melody on his guitar, he thought hazily.

And then she clutched at him, her legs wrapping around his waist, and he was lost utterly, burying himself inside her, reaching for fulfillment, feeling her tighten and ripple all around him. He gave himself up to sensation.


	63. Alive

Willow stretched her legs under the covers, the sheets feeling smooth and soft against her bare legs in a way she had never noticed before. All her skin seemed to be alive with sensation, even now, some aches but mostly just … good, and new, and … right. She sighed happily, and Oz smiled and kissed her forehead.

His fingers slowly stroked her hair, the touch gentle and soothing, but still exciting in a whole new way, now that she knew what those fingers could do, how they could make her feel.

“I feel different,” she said, wanting him to know what was happening to her—what he had caused to happen to her. “You know? I—I guess that makes sense.” Most people probably felt different after their first time, she suspected, although it was hard for her to imagine that they could feel quite as energized and renewed and as suddenly, unexpectedly alive as she did. “Do you feel different?” she asked, and then thought maybe it was a stupid question. He had done this before, after all. Maybe he was done with his different-feeling. “Oh! No,” she answered her own question. “You’ve already—probably no big change for you.” She wondered what he had felt after his first time, who he had been with. Had he been all chatty, the way Willow was feeling? Maybe not. It was hard to imagine Oz chatty. “It was nice.” When he still didn’t respond, she glanced his way. His hand was still stroking her hair, and that was reassuring. “Was it? Nice?” Then she thought maybe she was talking too much. Maybe other people lay and enjoyed the newness in silence. Maybe she was ruining it. “Should this be a … quiet moment?”

Against her hair, Oz murmured, “I know exactly what you mean.”

Reassured, Willow closed her eyes, letting her head relax again against his shoulder. He knew. He felt different. It had been special and new for both of them. That was all she needed to know. Except … she had said so much. Her eyes popped back open. “Which part?”

“Everything feels different.”

Willow smiled. It really did. 

He kissed her forehead again, and then she lifted her head and he kissed her mouth. He seemed to mean it to be a soft kiss, a brief, reassuring one, but Willow wanted more, and she kissed him again, lingering.

She might have kept going, started it all again—might have? Almost certainly she would have—but the phone rang, and the world wanted them back again. 

Even knowing what they faced in a couple of days’ time, it was difficult for Willow to turn and reach for the phone, to break the specialness of the moment they had shared and let the world back in again. She promised herself, even as she lifted the phone off its cradle, that they would do it again before the Ascension. Maybe a couple of more times.


	64. Killer

It was good to be working together in the chem lab, putting their heads together to figure out the compound of the poison Angel was suffering from. Although not as good as it had been to be in bed together, Oz reflected, which had been … just right. And certainly not good at all considering Angel’s condition and Buffy’s barely controlled terror, and the rage at Faith that lay beneath it. Whatever had poisoned him was mystical; no surprise there, really. 

They were able to put together the identity of the poison more easily than Oz had expected … almost as though they were expected to be able to, which made him worry. Why use an easily traced poison? But while the poison was easy to verify, the subsequent search for tales of a cure, something they could use to base their work off, was much harder.

Oz continued to pore through books while Willow broke the news to Buffy.

“How is he?” she asked.

Buffy was silent; it wasn’t good, evidently, and she didn’t want to face it.

At last, Oz found something that he thought might be what they were looking for. He said as much, still reading.

“You got something?” Xander asked.

“I’m not sure.” He almost wished he hadn’t spoken. 

He did wish it when Buffy said, “Be sure,” in a tone that said she needed the answer like she needed air to breathe.

Oz looked again, double-checking what he thought he had read, and nodded. “Okay, Killer of the Dead. That’s our boy. And … here’s a vamp that walked away from it.”

“Does it talk about the cure?” Willow asked.

It did. And Oz wished very much that he had kept his mouth shut, exercised his usual economy of words, before he had spoken. “Damn,” he said softly.

Willow came around to look over his shoulder as Buffy asked tensely, “Nothing?”

“No, it’s in here, but …”

“Wait, completely reversed the effects.” Willow traced the words with her finger. Then she saw what Oz had seen and her hand dropped to her side. “Oh.”

“What?” Buffy snapped.

“Come on, guys, the suspense is killing Angel,” Xander said. Which was funny coming from him, since he had never exactly been on Team Angel—but he was supporting Buffy, and you couldn’t really fault him for that.

There was nothing for it. Oz looked up, meeting Buffy’s eyes, and spelled it out for her. “The only way to cure this thing is to drain the blood of a Slayer.”

Silence filled the room as Buffy absorbed the blow. Then she blinked, seemed to shake herself internally, and said, “Good.”

“Good?” Xander asked. “What’d I miss?”

But Oz had followed Buffy’s train of thought. He put his pencil down in the book and straightened up, wondering if she could really do what she needed to do. Was she strong enough, emotionally and physically? It would be Slayer against Slayer, and Buffy had only fairly even odds of coming out on top.

“No, it’s perfect,” she answered Xander. “Angel needs to drain a Slayer, then I’ll bring him one.”

“Buffy, if Angel drains Faith’s blood, it’ll kill her.”

Knowing his Will, Oz wasn’t surprised to hear her pointing out the stark reality—even though she cared less for Faith than for anyone else in the world, she wasn’t one to take the idea of killing lightly.

Buffy didn’t blink. “Not if she’s already dead.” Her tone caused Oz to bump up his estimate of her odds. Angry as she was, stakes as high as they were … he gave her 60/40.

They moved from the chem lab to the library, where Willow got to work on the internet to find Faith’s current digs. They believed she had been put up in an apartment by the Mayor. 

He said as much to Willow as she typed, hovering over her shoulder. “Leasing agreement. It would be recent. Won’t be in her name, but if the Mayor’s putting her up, it might be in his.”

“Maybe he’s charging it to the city,” Willow responded.

“Right! Cross-reference realty with municipal funds.”

Willow glanced at him, half-amused and half-annoyed by his input. She gestured at the keyboard. “You want to drive?”

He smiled. “Sorry.” Tangling his hand in her hair, he let her work … but he didn’t miss the way she melted into his touch, or the way she had to regather her thoughts. He was almost sorry they had waited so long to bring their relationship to this level; she was so much more responsive than he had imagined, and his imagination had gone pretty wild.

But there was time yet. Buffy would defeat Faith, an easy 70/30 in the odds, he thought, his estimate buoyed by the need and excitement suddenly coursing through his veins again, and Angel would be healed, and he and Willow could slip away for some private time. If the world was going to end, that was the way he wanted to go—alone with her.


	65. Suffering

Watching Angel's suffering was one of the worst things Willow had ever had to do. She hated to be helpless here, wished she knew more magic, or more chemistry, or had more books to look through. Anything to keep from having to sit here watching him sweat and listening to him call Buffy’s name.

Stoic Oz was bothered by it, too, she could tell, and that was something of a comfort. At least she could look at him and feel that they were both equally unhappy not being able to do anything.

The site of the wound was getting worse by the minute, it seemed, the veins spreading in an angry red map across Angel’s chest, the skin darkening in a widening circle. 

Willow reached across with a cool, damp cloth to wipe away the sweat from his forehead. It wasn’t helping anything, not really, but at least it was something to do, some small way she could make things better other than sitting here waiting for Buffy to kill Faith. Much as Willow hated Faith, she had never wanted her dead—and certainly not by Buffy’s hand. Whatever the outcome of this night would be, if Buffy killed Faith, she would never be the same again, and Willow worried about that effect on her friend almost as much as she worried about the effect Angel’s death might have. Possibly more, in some ways. After all, Angel had died before, and Buffy had done her best to move on.

Angel’s breathing eased for a moment as she dabbed the cloth on his skin, his eyes clearing as he looked up at her.

“You’re awake,” Willow said in some relief. She was terrified that he would die before Buffy came back.

“Watchin’ over me?” Angel asked, his voice hoarse.

Willow nodded. He took her hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing the back of it. As his other hand settled on her shoulder, Willow frowned. Something wasn’t quite right here. “Well … we’ve been … taking turns …” she said, trying to act like somehow this was normal. He was taking gratitude a little far, she thought.

His hand tightened around hers, as if it was a lifeline. “I thought … I thought I’d never see you again. I … I can’t leave you. I have … I was wrong. I need you.” His thumb restlessly stroked her fingers even as he struggled to get the words out.

The light dawned finally, and Willow tugged her hand away, gently. “Oh! You mean you need Buffy,” she said, patting the back of his hand in what she hoped was an appropriately best-friend-of-his-girlfriend way.

Angel frowned, sitting up slightly as he peered at her more closely. “Willow?”

“Yes, right! Willow.”

“Where is she?”

He seemed agitated by Buffy’s absence, and made some effort to try to get up. Willow put a hand on his chest to hold him down. “She’ll be back soon,” she promised.

Angel fell back against the pillow, his limited strength exhausted, and he lost consciousness again. It was something of a relief. Willow wasn’t sure which had been harder—the awkwardness of him thinking she was Buffy, or the look on his face when he realized she wasn’t. The fever was down, at least, if only for the moment, and he seemed to be resting more comfortably.

She got off the bed and went out into the main room, where Oz was waiting, leaning against the wall. He looked up and pushed himself off the wall as she came in. “Any change?”

Willow shook her head. “He’s delirious. He thought I was Buffy.”

“You, too, huh?”

“I hope she gets here soon. She better.” Willow left unspoken her worry that Angel wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Yeah,” Oz agreed.

Looking at him, Willow couldn’t help the warmth that still filled the inside of her, like a candle slowly melting. What they had done … She still couldn’t stop thinking about it, or how it had made her feel. And it was so wrong to be standing here feeling this way when Buffy’s lover was … probably dying. “I feel so …” She paused, not sure if she should say it out loud—but this was Oz, and if she couldn’t tell Oz, who could she tell? “I feel so guilty.”

“Guilty?”

“Well, things are so terrible, and … everything’s coming apart, and … I’m just … This was … This is the best night of my life.”

Oz smiled a little, reaching for her hand. “The best?”

“The best,” she whispered, stepping toward him, unable to stop herself from kissing him. A small kiss, at first, just a reassurance, a cherry on the sundae, but then it felt good, so they kissed again. And again.

And then the door opened, and they whirled toward it, both of them feeling guilty now—or so Willow assumed. With Oz, it was always hard to tell. Buffy was there, looking at them anxiously, worried about Angel.

“I just checked on him, just now. We were … watching,” Willow stammered, not wanting Buffy to think they were shirking their duties. 

Buffy was alive and in one piece, but alone. And dejected. She had failed, then. 

“Did you find Faith?” Oz asked. Willow was glad he did; she had been afraid to. Hadn’t really wanted to know, based on the look on Buffy’s face. Angry and damaged and shocked and somehow … raw. Like Faith’s.

There was no response. Buffy’s eyes were empty, almost like she didn’t see them.

“You didn’t … She’s not here?” Willow asked, with a last hope that maybe Buffy had left Faith outside.

Buffy gave the smallest shake of the head. “How is he?”

Willow wasn’t sure what to tell her. She didn’t want to tell her the truth.

Oz said, “He comes in and out. I think the … pain is … less—now,” he added carefully.

After a moment, in which she seemed uncertain what to do or say next, Buffy asked, “Would you guys … I’d like to be alone with him.”

“’Course,” Oz whispered.

As they passed her, Willow paused. “We’ll try to find another cure,” she promised, but she couldn’t make herself sound hopeful. They had tried already, and failed. Was there really any more they could do?

Buffy said, “Thanks,” very softly, but she knew it was an empty offer.

Willow held on to Oz’s hand as they left the room, hating to leave her friend like this, and trying not to imagine what Buffy must be going through.


	66. Cured

The call came in, and Giles didn’t even bother to hang up the phone. “We’re going to the hospital. Buffy’s been hurt.”

He was out the door almost before he could finish speaking, and Oz, Xander, and Willow had to scramble to gather their things and hurry after him. Giles was clearly in no mood for talking. Xander tried asking what happened, but Giles just shifted gears in his battered old car with a horrifying shriek, and no one spoke again on the way to the hospital.

Compared with Giles, Buffy was a champion driver, Willow thought, clinging to the seat with one hand and Oz’s arm with the other.

At the hospital, Giles screeched into a handicapped parking space, the closest open one to the emergency room, and stalked into the hospital without a backward glance.

Angel was waiting for them, sitting in a chair with his elbows on his upper thighs and his head hanging. He got up as Giles burst through the doors.

“How is she?” Giles demanded.

“She’s fine. She’s asleep.” Angel looked tormented … but he wasn’t dying. In fact, he looked pretty normal, which was not what Willow would have expected given how he had looked the last time she’d seen him.

Oz voiced her confusion—and her unspoken fear. “Well, you seem all right, too,” he said slowly, as if trying to avoid what seemed like the obvious accusation.

“Yeah.” Angel didn’t offer any further details.

Xander eyed him up and down. “What happened?”

“When we left her she was fine.” Willow tried to offer an alternative possibility. “Did Faith—?”

But Angel shook his head. “Faith’s out of the picture. Buffy put her in a coma.”

They all knew, now. But Xander wasn’t going to be happy until Angel had admitted it. “And?” he demanded.

“Buffy cured me. Made me …” Angel couldn’t finish the sentence.

So Giles finished it for him, in a flat, matter-of-fact tone that still spoke volumes about his contempt for Angel’s weakness. “You fed off her.” 

Given their history, and Xander’s, Willow couldn’t blame them for despising what Angel had done. She found it disturbing, herself. But she also knew Buffy, and she knew how far Buffy would be willing to go for Angel. Any lengths. She had been willing to kill Faith! For Willow, next to that, Buffy being willing to gamble her own life to save Angel’s was far less surprising.

Angel didn’t want to admit it, even now. He hesitated, then finally said, softly, “Yes.”

“How much?” Giles asked, still in that measured tone.

“She’s gonna be fine.”

“She won’t be a vampire?” Willow asked. She didn’t think so, but she had to be sure.

Giles winced at the question, and Willow remembered too late that that was his nightmare.

“No,” Angel said. “She didn’t feed off me.”

Xander shook his head. “Well, it’s just good to know that when the chips are down and things look grim, you’ll feed off the girl who loves you to save your own ass.”

Angel had always been good at looking tortured—probably at feeling it—but this was beyond anything Willow had ever seen. She suspected that if he could have taken it back, he would have, and died rather than endanger Buffy. He was absolutely silent in the face of Xander’s self-righteousness.

“Better go, Angel. We’ll watch over her,” Giles said, his voice starting to come back to normal as he processed and accepted what had happened—and considered Buffy’s probable role in the incident.

“I don’t want to—“ Angel began, but Giles cut in, his voice like a whip.

“The sun’ll be up soon.”

Angel looked at him, stricken, and then gave a short, almost imperceptible, nod. He opened his mouth as if he had something to say, but couldn’t quite get the words out. Wrapping his arms around himself, he went around Giles and out the door.

When he was gone, Xander said, “Gosh, I’m really gonna miss him when he leaves town.”

Giles didn’t bother to respond to the comment. “Let’s find out how Buffy’s doing.”

They followed him into the room, where Buffy lay, pale and still. Her color was coming back even now, as the new blood suffused her body, and it was clear she was going to be fine. But the impact of seeing her there was hard on Giles, Willow could see, as he leaned over the unmoving form in the bed as if willing her to wake.


	67. Crazy

Whatever had happened between her and Angel, Buffy woke up fired up and more determined than ever to take down the Mayor. Oz couldn’t pretend to understand the change in her, but he approved. From what he had seen, Buffy in this mood was far more likely to prevail than Buffy in any other mood.

So as outside the building Snyder oversaw preparations for the graduation ceremony, inside the building Buffy laid out the plan she had come up with while she was unconscious. 

“We know it’s going to take a whole lot of firepower to take down this thing, so here’s what I want to do: use a whole lot of firepower to take it down. Basic plan is this—the Ascension starts, whatever that looks like. We arm the entire student body with whatever we have at hand, and when the Mayor’s boys come to play, which I have to assume they will, to protect him while he becomes a demon, we attack them with everything, everyone, we’ve got. Meanwhile, I distract the Mayor, and I lead him through the school and into the library. When he gets in here, he sees that we’ve filled it with explosives—don’t worry, we’ll take out all the books,” Buffy added with a glance at Giles. “Then we blow it up.”

“We blow up … the school,” Oz echoed.

“Yup.” Buffy looked around at them all, trying to gauge reactions. “That’s the basic plan.” There were none. No one moved or spoke. “So … Am I crazy?”

“Well … crazy is such a strong word,” Willow offered.

Giles looked over at her. “Let’s not rule it out, though.”

“You don’t think it can be done?” Buffy asked.

“Oh, I didn’t say that. I might,” he muttered under his breath, “but … not yet.”

Cordelia, always to be counted on for an opinion, said, “I personally don’t think it’s possible to come up with a crazier plan.”

Oz knew what she meant, naturally, but he took that kind of thing as a challenge. “We attack the Mayor with hummus.” He glanced at Cordelia over his shoulder to see how she took that idea.

With considerable aplomb, actually. She nodded thoughtfully. “I stand corrected." 

“Just keeping things in perspective,” he said.

Willow looked at him with her little frowny line above her nose. He couldn’t tell if she approved of his ironic detachment in this rather strange moment, or if she thought he might just be crazier than Buffy.

“Thank you,” Cordelia said. Then, to his surprise, she added, “My point, however, is, crazy or not, it’s pretty much the only plan. Besides, it’s Buffy’s, and she’s … Slay-gal. You know, Little Miss Likes-to-Fight. So—“

Xander saved them all from whatever else Cordelia might have gone on to say by interrupting. “I think there was a ‘yea’ vote buried in there somewhere.”

“I’m gonna need every single one of you on board,” Buffy pointed out. “Especially you, Xander. You’re sort of the key figure here.”

“Key?” Xander repeated. “Me?” He sat up straighter, thinking that one over. “Okay, pride. Humility. And here’s the mind-numbing fear. What do I have to do?”

“Do you remember any of your military training from when you became soldier-guy?”

“Ooh! Rocket launcher?” he asked optimistically.

“Rocket launcher not gonna get it done. I mean, it took a volcano to kill one of these things last time.”

Giles got to his feet, seeming to have finally decided how to approach this odd plan. “Um, Buffy … uh … All of this is rather dependent on your being able to control the Mayor.”

Before he could get any further, Buffy said, “Faith told me to play on his human weakness.”

“Faith told you?” Willow asked. It was her small, insecure voice, the one that always came out when Faith’s star was in the ascendant. He wished she could understand how little she had to be threatened by where Faith was concerned … but that got into Faith sleeping with Xander and Willow’s whole thing with Xander, and Oz preferred not to go down that path. “Was that before or after you put her in a coma?” she continued.

“After.”

“Oh.” 

It amused Oz how they all just accepted that as a thing. Most people wouldn’t have taken Buffy at her word if she said she’d been given advice on how to kill their biggest enemy by his chief henchman—henchwoman? Henchperson. Especially not while both of them were unconscious. Then again, most people didn’t believe in werewolves.

Giles ignored the whole provenance of the advice and kept to the advice itself. “His weakness?”

“Right.”

He frowned at Buffy. “Which is …?”

But Buffy had apparently had enough of the question-and-answer portion of the show. “You know, I do all this planning, I’m in charge here, even though I’m really not at my best …”

“Well.” Giles cleared his throat. “Well, let’s, uh, let’s … let’s think.”

Oz looked over at the dark corner, the ignored corner, where their biggest asset in this circumstance hovered. “Angel, you hung with him the most. Is there something that he’s … afraid of?”

Angel looked a little surprised to be addressed directly. His habitual scowl deepened a little as he considered the question. “Well … he’s not crazy about germs.”

“Of course,” Cordelia said. “That’s it! We’ll attack him with germs.”

“Great,” Buffy responded. “We’ll get him cornered and then you can sneeze on him.”

“No! No, we’ll get a container of ebola virus, and …” Cordelia kind of lost her momentum there, not knowing what to do with ebola virus once she had it. “And, um … Or … it doesn’t even have to be real, we can just get a box that says ‘ebola’ on it, and then …” She snapped her fingers, like it was going to be just that easy. “Chase him.”

Oz raised an eyebrow and glanced at Willow, who tried not to smile.

“With the box,” Cordelia clarified, in case they had missed the idea the first time.

Xander broke the ensuing silence. “I’m starting to lean toward the hummus offensive.”

“He’ll never see it coming,” Oz pointed out.

Angel had clearly lost patience with the lot of them. His voice was sharp as he ground out a single word: “Faith.”

Buffy couldn’t even look at him, not fully. She turned her head in his direction and repeated faintly, “Faith?”

“At the hospital, he was grieving. Seriously crazed, and not just in a homicidal I-want-to-be-a-demon way. She’s his weak link,” Angel added as the door opened behind Buffy and Wesley came in.

In his careful way, he let the door shut completely before letting go of it, walking toward Buffy as she echoed Angel again. “Faith.” Then she glanced up at Giles, her Slayer face back on, as if she had just thought of something. “I can work that.”

From behind her, Wesley said, “You haven’t an enormous amount of time.”

Buffy froze. Giles looked up at his fellow Watcher, clearly waiting for a long lecture.

Xander said cheerily, “Hey, it’s Mr. States-the-Obvious.”

Without turning around, Buffy said, “The Council is not welcome here. I have no time for orders. If I need someone to scream like a woman, I’ll give you a call.”

Wesley moved around toward the front of her chair, so she could see him without moving. “I’m not here for the Council. Just tell me how I can help.”

Buffy looked at up him, clearly considering whether he was sincere. For what it was worth, Oz thought he sounded different, that pompous know-it-all tone completely gone from his voice.

Before Buffy could say anything, Cordelia spoke up. “That is so classy.” Turning to the rest of them, she added, “Isn’t he just so classy?”

There was silence, as Wesley glanced briefly at Cordelia before looking back at Buffy, who at last gave the barest nod. “It’s a start.”

“So there is something I can do … besides scream like a woman.”

“There’s plenty. There are chores for everyone.” Buffy got up from her chair at last, still moving a little slowly, but the Slayer brain was working, and for the first time, Oz thought they were probably going to live.


	68. Van

Willow and Oz had been sent to get fertilizer, and lots of it, Oz’s van having a far greater carrying capacity than Giles’s little car. The clerk at the store had given them a funny look, and Willow had joked about needing to prank a teacher—which seemed surprisingly reassuring to the clerk. Maybe it was a measure of normalcy much-needed in Sunnydale. Either way, they had the bags of fertilizer in readiness.

Pulling up to the school, they found Jonathan and Larry waiting for them with an empty shopping cart, and the four of them got the van unloaded.

When the cart was filled with the last load of the fertilizer, Oz hunkered down in the back. “Okay, put these with the others. Don’t touch anything.”

Larry nodded, looking pale but ready to do his part. Jonathan wibbled, as he did. “W-w-what do we do then?”

Oz looked at him. “Nothing.”

“Just relax. Have a good time.” Willow forced a smile. She had to remember that even though Jonathan and Larry knew very little about what was to come, they knew it was going to be bad, and they couldn’t do much to help, and that had to be scary. She could do some stuff to help, and she was still scared. Of course, she knew a lot more about what could happen than they did, she reminded herself.

At the idea of having a good time, Jonathan stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “Uh … Okay.”

Larry was watching the campus, which was remarkably empty for the middle of the afternoon. “’Kay, it’s clear. Let’s move.” He shoved at the heavy cart full of fertilizer, rolling it down the sidewalk. Jonathan slid the door of the van closed and presumably followed Larry. Once the door was closed, Willow had to trust that they knew what they were doing.

She wished she felt like she knew what she was doing.

“I guess that’s it,” she said to Oz. The preparations, at least their part in them, were done. “Won’t be long now.”

“You nervous?”

“Only in a terrified way.”

He reached for her hand, looking her steadily in the eye. His touch and his perennial calm were soothing. “We’re gonna make it through this,” he said softly.

“Are you sure?” She wanted more reassurance. She wanted promises. She wanted to fast-forward to the end of the movie and find out that they all lived, and she couldn’t do that. 

There was a faint smile on Oz’s face. “I sound pretty sure, don’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I must be sure.”

Willow accepted that. Then she didn’t accept it, because he was either sure or he wasn’t—how he sounded came from whether he was sure, and didn’t define it, so he should know without having to consult how he sounded. Oh, she was confusing herself now. She frowned at him. “Is that just a comforting way of not answering the question?”

His smile widened just a little, the acknowledgement there in his eyes that he was telling her what he knew she wanted to hear, regardless of what he believed.

She would have preferred him to be more confident. Or to go back to being Ironic Detachment Guy, which was ironic in itself because she had asked him not to be that guy, and to be honest with her, and here he was being honest, and she didn’t want that either.

And since neither of them was really sure, they did the next best thing: They kissed. And then they kissed again. And again, Oz’s fingers tangling in Willow’s hair.

“How long till graduation?” she murmured when they came apart for air.

“Little while.” Willow was glad to hear he sounded as breathless as she felt.

So she kissed him again, shoving his jacket and opened button-down back off his shoulders and sliding her hands up under his shirt. 

Oz leaned back, letting her strip the clothes off him, and Willow took advantage of that to kiss his neck, and his collarbone, and his chest and his ribcage.

“Will.” It was more a moan than her name, properly considered, but she liked the sound of it that way. She kissed a little below his ribcage, just to hear it again.

His hands fastened on her arms, pulling her up onto her knees so he could kiss her again, hungrily this time. In his turn, he pushed at her clothes, stripping her with more haste than skill, clothes lying in tangles all around them when he was done.

Willow had completely forgotten that they were in an unlocked van parked on the school campus, and that people were assembling for graduation all around them. All she could think of was Oz’s tongue on her skin, moving across her shoulder, and his hands seeking and finding the need in her. 

To think this was only the second time, and already she was anticipating what was to come, knowing what to expect and starting to know what she wanted. She pulled at his shoulders until he was stretched out on top of her, skin pressing against skin from head to foot.

Oz chuckled a little at her greed, and then gasped as she reached between them and found him, feeling the surprisingly smooth and silky texture, the heat, the hardness. It was for her, because of her, and that was possibly the most exciting thing of all.

She was ready. So ready. And she tugged at him, just a little, loving the way he groaned with pleasure. “Oz. Hurry.”

“Mm.” He let her guide him inside her, seating himself completely, moving in a steady rhythm.

“Oh, God, Oz.” She tried to keep her voice low, tried to remember that people could hear them, but it felt so good. 

With a low chuckle he kissed her, keeping her quiet that way, telling her without words that he felt what she felt. 

Willow wrapped her legs around his hips, pressing up against him, feeling that tension build inside her, the urgency to reach that indefinable goal. 

And then she was there, holding on to him as the only solid thing in a world gone hazy and liquid with pleasure, hearing as if from far away the harsh breathing in her ear, the little sigh of her name that said he was there, too. 

They lay still tangled together on the floor of his van, panting as the sensations ebbed.

After what seemed like a long time, Willow shifted beneath him. “We should go.”

“Mm-hm.” Oz nuzzled her hair.

“Graduation must be starting soon.”

“Mm-hm.” He kissed her neck, nipping just a little at the skin just below her ear.

Willow moaned at the feeling. “Buffy will be looking for us.”

“Mm-hm.” One of his hands cupped her breast, the thumb rubbing her nipple.

She gasped, surprised that it could feel so good just moments after … finishing. “We could probably be helping.”

“Mm-hm.” He bent and took the nipple into his mouth, sucking on it, and Willow arched up against him.

“Or we could—we could do it again,” she said breathlessly.

“Mm-HM.”

And that was the last thing either of them said for a good long while.


	69. Ascension

Much, much later than she had intended, Willow hurried with Oz toward the chairs set up for the graduates. She had managed to pull on her graduation gown, but she still had her cap in her hand rather than on her head. She slid breathlessly into the seat next to Buffy, uncomfortably aware that underneath the gown her shirt was on inside out, and her underwear had gone missing somewhere in Oz’s van.

At least she had missed Snyder’s remarks. She was sure they had been less than edifying, so she couldn’t feel too badly about skipping them to have sex in a van. Someday maybe she could tell her children about it. Or maybe her grandchildren. If she lived to have grandchildren.

Buffy glanced at her, frowning a little.

Willow gave her an awkward, guilty smile. “Am I late? Did we fight?” Oh, how nice it would be to think she had missed the whole Ascension and this would just be a normal graduation.

But no. Even as Willow put her cap on, Mayor Wilkins was taking the podium. He reached into his inner jacket pocket and took out a stack of 3x5 cards, clearing his throat.

He squared himself up in front of the podium, looking out over the sea of graduates, and began. “Well. What a day this is. A special day. Today is our centennial, the 100th anniversary of the founding of Sunnydale, and I know what that means to all you kids: not a darn thing.” He smiled, amusing himself, if no one else. “’Cause today, something much more important happens. Today, you all graduate from high school. Today, all the pain, all the work, all the excitement … is finally over. Now, what’s a hundred years of history compared to that?”

As he continued speaking, Buffy’s jaw dropped. “My God,” she whispered. “He’s gonna do the entire speech.”

Rolling her eyes, Willow muttered, “Oh, man, just Ascend already.”

“Evil.”

Willow nodded. This was just adding insult to injury; didn’t he know they all wanted to hurry up and get it over with? Of course he didn’t, because he didn’t know they knew. At least, not how much they knew.

He was still talking, and she made an effort to pay attention. Maybe there would be something they could use in the fight in the speech.

“It’s been a long road getting here,” he said, “for you, for Sunnydale. There’s been achievement, and joy, good times … And there’s been grief. There’s been loss. Some people who should be here today, aren’t.” He looked directly at Buffy, and Willow knew that Angel had been right. The loss of Faith had cut the Mayor deeply. He wouldn’t forgive Buffy for it. Willow only hoped Buffy knew how to use that knowledge to their advantage. Wilkins’ next words were a challenge, carefully aimed right at Buffy. “But we are. Journey’s end. And what is a journey?” he asked, moving into that rhetorical public-speaking tone that boring politicians used the world over. 

Willow sighed and shifted in her chair.

“Is it just distance traveled, time spent? No. It’s what happens on the way; it’s the things that shape you. At the end of the journey, you’re not the same. Today is about change. Graduation doesn’t just mean your circumstances change, it means you do. You ascend—to a higher level. Nothing will ever be the same. Nothing.” 

As he spoke, the sky above his head darkened, and everyone looked up at it. The moon was covering the sun, making night out of day. Of course, Willow thought. The vampires. It was starting.

On the podium, the Mayor suddenly doubled over in pain, and while the students tensed, the faculty began to murmur in distress and confusion. 

The Mayor tried to carry on his speech, but the pain took him again, and again, and again, until he cried out with it. “It has begun. My destiny,” he said at last. “It’s a little sooner than I expected.” Lifting the index cards, he shuffled through them. “I had this whole section on civic pride. But I guess we’ll just skip to the big finish.”

And as they watched, horrified but fascinated, the Mayor became a massive, impossibly huge snake. 

The faculty were running, the students rising in their seats. Willow was glad to see they were staying put, even as the demon screamed its triumph over their heads.


	70. Fighting

Oz stood with the others, staring in horror up at the demon who had until recently been the Mayor of Sunnydale. Oz had seen quite a few horrors in the past few years, up to and including himself, but even he was given pause by the sheer size of the creature facing them. He couldn’t imagine how his classmates, who had never seen anything abnormal—at least, not that they knew of—were handling it.

Behind them, the parents were screaming and running, falling over each other in their panic. The demon hovered in the air above them, roaring in anger. Probably some pain, too, Oz, figured, if demons still felt pain. What Wilkins had just gone through had to hurt.

He was proud of his classmates—frozen though they were, they were holding. Waiting. Not running or panicking or screaming. 

Then, from the midst of them, Buffy yelled, “Now!” and everyone tore off their robes to reveal the weaponry concealed beneath them.

“Flame units!” Buffy called.

The kids with the flame throwers got them ready, aiming them at the Mayor. The heat rose as the flames burned in concert. The demon screamed, and the air filled with the scent of burning meat. Really unpleasant burning meat, not anything you’d ever want to have at a barbecue.

Buffy nodded at Xander, who was standing on a chair so he could be heard, and seen. He was also most vulnerable to the demon that way. Oz wouldn’t have imagined Xander as being that brave, but he was standing firm. “First wave!” he shouted.

A whole row of kids with harpoons and other projectile-shooting objects raised them, but they held, waiting for Xander’s command. 

“Fire!” he called, and they did.

The demon shrieked. Its head dove from the sky and picked out a kid, swallowing him—her? Oz couldn’t see who it was, and he was grateful for that—whole.

The kids stood in shock, stunned by the sudden turn of the tide.

Oz was handing out more weapons from the stockpile at the back of the stage. A couple of kids ran past him, shocked out of their bravery by the ferocity of the demon. But they didn’t get far, because the vamps were waiting for the buffet.

Turning around, Oz saw that the vampires were making quick work of the few who had run. “Xander!” he shouted. 

Xander heard him, and turned around. Without missing a beat, he shouted “Bowmen!”

Oz and the others assigned to protect the rear lifted their bows, lighting their arrows on fire. Oz drew and aimed straight for the center of a vamp’s chest. On Xander’s command, he fired, and had the satisfaction of seeing the arrow strike true and the vamp fly backward with the force of the impact and dust almost immediately.

The front line wasn’t doing so well, the demon as strong as he had been promised to be. 

“Fall back!” Buffy called above the chaos.

Oz and the others aimed another volley of arrows. The vamps, encountering resistance where they had expected an easy lunch, turned to run—and were stopped short by Angel and Wesley and quite a few others standing there, waiting for them.

From there it was a free-for-all, hand-to-hand fighting, people pushing past to run for their lives. Oz could feel the blood lust rising, the wolf lurking inside him. He was only grateful this eclipse hadn’t come with a full moon. But he was in the thick of it, fighting vamps, trying to pull people to safety if they seemed overwhelmed, using everything he had learned at Buffy’s side to help win the day.


	71. Saved

Willow had been out in the front line since the Mayor’s change, aiming her harpoon wherever she thought it might do the most good. She wished she had practiced more with projectile weapons. If she survived this, she would, she told herself.

The demon had taken everything they could throw at him so far and didn’t seem to have been harmed, and Willow could feel the determination of the people around her fading. Had they expected it to be easy? Then again, she knew what they were facing and how hard it was going to be, as much as there was to know, and she hadn’t expected it to be this hard, either. She hadn’t even glanced back to see how Oz and the others were doing with the wave of vamps they had expected. That they were there she could tell, from the screaming, but she didn’t turn to see who it was. There was no time for that kind of distraction.

Next to her, Buffy shouted, “Fall back!” Behind her, Xander’s voice sounded, calling out “Fire!” at regular intervals. Whether he was speaking to her line or the bowmen in the back, Willow didn’t know. She tried her best to keep firing on the signal regardless.

Buffy had them organized, falling back as slowly and with as little chaos as she could manage amdist the battle, and with all the chairs from the ceremony in their way. There had been less carnage overall than Willow had feared. She saw Larry lying where the demon’s tail had swept him, motionless. It was too bad. Larry had been a good guy, and he had fought hard. She hoped it had been quick for him.

Putting her hand on Willow’s shoulder, Buffy climbed on top of a chair to survey the battle better.

To the side, alone, as if nothing unusual was happening, Principal Snyder frowned up at the demon, looking for all the world as if he was about to deliver one of his trademark lectures. The demon noticed him for what appeared to be the first time, and it paused, looking down. Then it ate him. Willow had never liked Principal Snyder, but no one deserved to die like that.

Everyone stopped at the sight, shocked, even as the demon gulped and Principal Snyder’s polished shoes disappeared into his mouth.

“Fall back!” Buffy shouted again. “Back!” She got down from the chair and grabbed Willow by the arms. 

Willow didn’t want to stay, but she didn’t want to leave Buffy here alone, either.

Seeing her hesitate, Buffy shook her a little. “Go.”

“Good luck,” Willow offered. Buffy would need more than luck. A true Wicca would be able to give her more than luck. If they made it out of this alive, Willow would have more to offer the next time. She would be stronger, braver, better prepared. She made that promise to Buffy silently, even as she turned away and left her best friend to deal with the demon alone.

As she moved toward the chaos behind her, she heard Buffy shout, “Xander! Take ‘em down!”

And Xander, still on his chair, took a stake from his pocket. “Everyone! Hand-to-hand!”

Willow managed to find Oz, somehow, and he reached for her hand, holding it tightly for a moment in his relief at seeing her alive. 

Xander was still shouting, down in the middle of the crowd, moving them toward the vampires in the back. Oz picked up a baseball bat, preparing for the hand-to-hand phase. Willow reached for the stake she had put in her back pocket, only to remember vaguely noticing it roll under the seat of Oz’s van earlier as they kicked her pants out of the way.

So, this was going to be real hand-to-hand. She hoped if she turned into a vampire, she would be less slutty than the version from the alternate universe.

Oz stayed with her, slamming the bat into the face of a vamp who grabbed at her. She pushed her way through the crowd, the rising panic all around getting to her. All she could think of was getting out of the screaming and the fighting and the blur of motion to somewhere quiet. 

She didn’t know what was happening on the empty graduation stage, what Buffy was doing. All she could do was trust that Buffy could handle it, and that the Slayer would win the day again, as she had so often before.

And then the school blew up, with a roar of flame and a crashing of glass. The flames lit up the darkness that had eclipsed the day. 

Standing in a startling oasis of calm, Willow found Oz next to her, and she clung to him. What if Buffy hadn’t made it out in time?

Flames boiled across the familiar buildings, the clock tower exploding in a rain of stucco and sticks. Then the front entrance went, Sunnydale High School erased from above the door as if it had never been there.

And it was over. The demon was dead, the Ascension interrupted, the world—at least, their corner of it—saved. Again.

“She did it,” Oz said, his tone matter-of-fact, as if he had never doubted for a minute.

“Yes, she did.” Willow turned her head and kissed him. There would be time for more now, time for long lazy afternoons in bed, for studying magic, for getting better at fighting—for everything. “She really did.”


	72. Moment

Later, after the fire department and the ambulances and the police had been and gone, after they had all quietly faded into the background and allowed what was left of the leadership of Sunnydale figure out what had happened—and what they were going to say had happened—on their own, Willow and Oz found a bench across the street from the ruins of the school. She sank onto it, wincing, having turned her ankle at some point in the fight. Oz moved behind her, blocking some of the sudden chill of the evening, his fingers playing with her hair the way he loved to do. Willow leaned her head back against him.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. Even Willow didn’t, this once. Knowing they were alive, that there was ahead of them so much time in which to say everything that needed to be said, do everything that they wanted to do, was enough.

Xander came from the chaos of emergency vehicles, sitting down on the ground next to Willow’s legs. “So … that happened.”

“It did,” Oz acknowledged.

“Can’t believe I led the troops.”

“You did good,” Willow told him.

She expected him to continue talking, that nervous Xander-speak they were all so familiar with, but he seemed full from the events of the night, ready to simply sit and take it in. The three of them sat in silence together. Willow couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped her. There was no one more important to her than these men, and to have them past that madness from the fall, to have them in their proper places next to and behind her and not be fighting or jealous or angry or unhappy—it was what she had hoped would happen all along.

Of course the peace and quiet didn’t last, because Cordelia found them, trudging across the lawn in their direction. “Well,” she said, “that was as much fun as you can have … without having any fun.”

In Willow’s current mood, she was even willing to open their little circle to Cordelia—temporarily, anyway. “What about the part where we kicked some demon ass? I didn’t hate that.” Oz’s fingers in her hair sped up their stroking a little, as if he liked her more daring language and her martial attitude. She closed her eyes and leaned into the caress. 

“Hear, hear,” Xander agreed.

Opening her eyes, Willow saw Buffy approaching. Buffy looked tired, but overall in control. Angel was probably already gone, and Willow had worried about how her friend was going to handle it. Stopping next to the bench, Buffy asked, “You guys want to take off?” She glanced back over her shoulder at the school. “I think we’ve pretty much done everything we can.”

“I’m for it,” Cordelia said.

Willow looked up at Buffy, searching for something in the weariness and the post-battle Slayeriness to tell her how her friend was doing inside. She decided just to ask. “Are you okay?”

Slowly, Buffy took her eyes off the school, her face unfocused, as if she was looking inward, and she nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay.” 

She looked down at Willow, the softness in her voice and the uncertainty in her face saying she was trying hard to be okay, at least, and Willow wasn’t about to get in the way of that. She smiled, instead, knowing that the rest of it would come out eventually, and knowing that Buffy knew she would be there when it did.

“I could use a little sleep, though,” Buffy continued.

“Yeah,” Willow agreed. She hadn’t been aware of her own weariness until Buffy said so, but she could sleep for a week, she felt suddenly.

Buffy sat down on the bench next to her. “If someone could just wake me when it’s time to go to college, that’d be great.”

Willow smiled, scooching over enough to be sitting shoulder to shoulder with her friend. She couldn’t imagine what her life would be like without Buffy in it, but she hoped she would never have to find out.

Behind her, Oz spoke suddenly. “Guys. Take a moment to deal with this. We survived.”

That it should be Oz voicing the thought made it seem all the deeper, at least to Willow. They had survived, when no one had thought they could.

“It was a hell of a battle,” Buffy said.

“Not the battle,” Oz corrected. “High school.”

Willow surveyed the ruins with new eyes. They had survived. Four years of hell—and not just because of the Hellmouth. People had died, people had had their hearts broken, people had learned new and unpleasant things about themselves … but here they were, whole and, mostly, happy, despite it all. She smiled.

Oz said quietly, “We’re taking a moment.”

After another few seconds, Buffy and Willow got up together, as though they had both had their fill of introspection at the same time. Willow certainly had. 

Oz said, “And we’re done.”

He put his arm around Willow’s waist as they walked away, the five of them, leaving Sunnydale High School behind for good.


	73. Tonight

Later that night Willow and Oz sat together on a cemetery wall, looking out across its peaceful expanse. Well, peaceful for the moment, anyway. With the Mayor’s vamps either dead or on the run, Sunnydale might get a few days off, but Willow didn’t kid herself that it would be more than that. It was odd—she used to be afraid of the dark, afraid of the shadowy unknowns that lurked there. Now that she knew what lay in the shadows, she wasn’t afraid anymore. Well, not in the same way. She still felt the adrenaline of fear fueling her in a fight, but she didn’t want to cringe and cry and hide somewhere brightly lit.

Dating one of those creatures of the night probably had something to do with it, she thought, reaching for Oz’s hand. 

He turned to her and smiled. “We made it.”

“We did,” she said, scooting closer so she could snuggle up next to him. “And you were so worried.”

“Silly of me,” he agreed, his smile widening. “I’m glad you were with me to keep me from panicking.”

His voice dropped on the last word, and she shivered, remembering the way he had said it before, and what had happened after he said it. Willow hoped that was going to happen again tonight. It occurred to her that now that they weren’t going to die, maybe they needed rules for how often that happened, when to know, how to be sure that he wanted it, too …

The familiar round of questions was taking her with it into an endless loop when she felt Oz’s hand gently cup her cheek, turning her head toward him so that he could kiss her.

Kissing was so different now, too, she thought hazily when they broke apart. Because now it was the beginning of something as much as it was an end in itself. She leaned in and kissed him again. His hand slid underneath her shirt, stroking the bare skin of her back, and Willow moved even closer so he could reach her more easily.

Oz pulled back. “We should take this elsewhere.”

“Yes. Yes, we definitely should,” Willow agreed eagerly. Thinking about it, she felt a little too much like Buffy and Angel, making out in a graveyard. She hoped Buffy would recover from the loss of her vampiric lover; it was a tough decision, but they had made it for good reasons, and Willow wanted to help Buffy see that, even as she did the supportive best friend chocolate and caffeine and sugar thing.

In the meanwhile, Buffy had seemed as all right as she could be when they left her earlier. At least, she was asleep, curled up against Xander’s shoulder as he watched the rest of _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_. Horror movies wouldn’t have been Willow’s choice for the night, but the cheesiness had seemed to comfort Buffy. Xander had agreed to stay with her until her mom got home in the morning, since none of them wanted to leave her alone. It had been a big couple of days for Buffy—almost killing Faith, almost getting killed by Angel, defeating the Mayor and stopping the Ascension—and there would be a lot for her to come to terms with later. Willow was glad Xander was there, and that he seemed to be enough past his old thing for Buffy that he could be there as her friend. Hopefully he, too, had been through enough that he wouldn’t mention Angel.

But all that was Willow’s worry for tomorrow. Tonight there was Oz, and they were alive together, and Willow intended to make the most of it.


End file.
